Hollow Men A Killjoy Story
by Bishabish
Summary: The year is 2019. Natural disasters and nuclear war has wiped out half the world's population. Survivors are broken up into two categories: those for or against the corporation trying to control what's left of the world. Wendy and her family find out just how dangerous the corporation can be when a single event sets off a chain reaction of experiences of life-altering proportions.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_This is the way the world ends_

_Not with a bang but a whimper_

"_The Hollow Men" – T.S. Eliot_

From the dawn of time and the creation of man, there have been a vast many ideas on how the world would end.

Early in the twenty-first century, most in popular culture believed the world would end due to a zombie apocalypse. They joked and prepared for the inevitable zombie outbreak, debating and determining ways to survive through the shambling dead masses. Somehow the world ending didn't seem so bad – as long it was at the hands of animated corpses that could easily be outrun.

Before that, people thought the curse of technology would cause the death of the human race. Computers, through generations of testing, would become self-aware and desire the extermination of the humans that created them. But computers, unlike humans, always reacted logically – no matter the emotional programming they received.

Even before that, the Cold War and nuclear missiles were being blamed for the impending annihilation of the human condition. Children were taught games to protect themselves from nuclear fallout. Adults blacklisted sacrificial lambs, pointing fingers at innocent and guilty alike in an attempt to keep this reality from happening.

And long before that, religious zealots believed the world would end with fire and brimstone; the judgment of sinners and the sacrifice of saints. They believed demons would walk the earth and purge the world of its impurities. They believed the words passed down to them from whichever deity would save them all.

With each generation and each culture, the ideas would vary in detail but remained basically the same throughout. The wicked would perish. The devout would thrive. It was one of the many misconceptions society suffered. The wicked did not perish. The devout did not thrive. Everyone, no matter their beliefs, suffered the same atrocities. They suffered the same loss. They suffered to the point beyond suffering, as people knew it, though there was no word in any human language that could describe it.

All of these ideas started off with a bang – a catalyst so earth-shatteringly tangible that people could point to that one event and say, "that's when it all started; that was the beginning of the end." Books were written about it. Movies were filmed about it. Scientists presented hypothesis after hypothesis on it. The bang most people associate with the end of the world didn't come until later – much, much later.

Instead of the bang everyone was preparing for, the world began to end with a whimper and the slow exhalation of life as more than a quarter of the world's population was wiped out from natural disaster after natural disaster. Earthquakes and floods, hurricanes and tornadoes, tidal waves and droughts descended on areas that ill prepared for such events because they'd never experienced them before. Panic was a worldwide epidemic. People reverted back to their savage origins, protecting what was theirs and the people who belonged to them. When Mother Nature's fury and destruction reached its zenith, the Helium Wars began.

No one knew who struck first. The list of countries housing nuclear weapons was so long it was hard to guess accurately. Many of the survivors tried to ration out what happened so they could point the finger of blame. Facts were tangled in rumor, fiction and conjecture that were doled out by what was left of the standing global governments.

Some believed Russian extremists decided to take up the Cold War again. Others believed the countries in the Middle East, tired of being forced to change their ways of life and belief systems, banded together to start a war against the major powerhouses of the world. A few believed it was Koreas in an attempt to advance their nuclear weapons program. The fringier groups, living on the edge of society long before the Helium Wars broke out, believed it was their own government that set off the bombs in order regain control after a disastrous presidential run that left the country near poverty.

Since most publications, both print and online, went the way of the dinosaur, it was impossible to track down the truth. Because so much information was lost or destroyed, no one could find evidence of any kind. In truth, no one cared enough to spend the time ferreting out the true culprit – they were too busy trying to survive the events as the unfolded and prepare for what would come next.

Hundreds of thousands died in the natural disasters, but millions more died in the onset of the Helium Wars. Lakes, ponds and rivers either dried up or became contaminated by the fallout; what crops that weren't consumed in the fire plaguing the country withered and died. Those who made their living off the land were suddenly left without their livelihood. The great migration took more than a few thousand lives as people who lived in the country made their way into the few remaining cities that were left standing. At least there, the possibility of survival was higher than in the barren wastelands of the farming communities.

The cities grew fat with overpopulation, and soon, chaos took hold. Countless people died in the months of anarchy that struck each city. Violence corrupted the men and women attempting to run those cities with iron fists. They used any excuse to punish those who lived within the confines of their rule – usually for the slightest infraction. People tried to escape. They tried to return to the surrounding land, choosing possible starvation over the tyranny of their leaders, especially when the radiation levels dropped to where people could live on the land again – even if it caused sickness.

Some managed to escape. Most couldn't. The people who were caught trying to escape were dealt with by an unforgiving militia justice – swiftly and quietly – though rumors always managed to seep out into the world.

Throughout all of this, a small company that spent most of the time behind the scenes in the scientific fields became a sudden beacon of light that shattered the night sky. What used to be Los Angeles was rebuilt and renamed Battery City. The corporation that bean the rebuild also began a slow, sprawling takeover of the rest of the state of California – or, what was left of California – with tentacles spreading outward like smoke tendrils.

Each time it was the same story. Whispers of Better Living Industries would hit a beleaguered town of survivors desperate for relief. Representatives of the company would arrive and try to sell the company's mission statement – offering each member of society their own slice of happiness, their own little piece of heaven in return for letting them absorb their town to make it a better place to live, _and_ for a small monetary fee. If the residents proved combative, measures were taken and the Scarecrow Tactical Unit was sent in to take care of the problem by any means necessary.

Better Living promised to clean up the land, to purify the water, to bring civilized behavior back to the panicked and depressed masses. The people, cowering in fear and wanting to take the word of the well-dressed, well represented corporation began clamoring to be pulled into the Better Living fold. They wanted nothing more than to forget all that had transpired around the world and pretend it never happened.

Better Living was more than happy to help. They made sure the populace remained docile through the rebuilding process, slowly urging the more willing people to move back into the city where they could be better watched, better controlled, where they could become productive members of society and spend the money they earned on Better Living products.

There were some people, however, who weren't as willing as the others. They chose to stay in their decimated towns to make their own way. Better Living couldn't tolerate these people to continue as they were – not when control and profit were involved. The company began slipping medication into the food supply. The medications ranged from outright narcotics to heavy doses of anti-depressants that would render the taker uncaring.

Unfortunately, for some, it wasn't quite so easy to let go and swallow the information delivered to them – hook, line and sinker. Rumors of what Better Living was really up to began to surface in places that were now essentially considered ghost towns. People were disappearing. Some came back, drastically changed from when they left. Some didn't come back at all. No one knew exactly what happened to them, but there were many rumors that centered on medical, neurological and scientific experiments. All suggested some form of brainwashing or another.

Better Living assured everyone that it was simply procedure to protect them from the bad elements, the pollution in their towns and the world at large. When people couldn't or wouldn't believe their mission statement, another would be released, targeted toward the non-believers. They were doing medical research and testing to make sure the events that caused the war couldn't be duplicated. New vaccines for illnesses and diseases demanded exploration and eventual creation. Protection from the acid rains and winds that came with nuclear fallout needed to be implemented. All of this required medical testing and volunteers were needed. It all seemed legitimate, but the damage from the whispered stories had been done.

A movement began slowly with one person and an unexpected death that was championed by a voice on a pirate radio station that called himself Doctor Death Defying. The movement, almost squashed by Better Living in its stage of infancy, managed to take root and soon spread like wildfire across the Zones. The underdogs, misfits and rejects, the people living on the fringe of society were getting restless. They needed a way to regain control of their lives and take hold of their destinies.

Some had grown up challenging and questioning most everything around them, demanding answers in an age of secrecy. They didn't trust Better Living and decided to take what stand they could against the corporation in any way they could. They'd finally found a worthy enemy in which to work against. Some fought openly. Others hid in the shadows and tried to help by taking down the monster from within its belly. There was a network of people covering a vast area, though their numbers were small.

They weren't the first and they certainly wouldn't be the last, but four men suddenly appeared as poster boys for the uprising. They called themselves and anyone with them, Killjoys. Only a handful of people knew their true identities. Through their anonymity, they brought hope to those deemed as the lunatic fringe. They brought hope to the forgotten and the weary. They gave the people something to fight for, even if it wasn't completely right. It moved people forward. People who remained stagnant could never truly heal.

The Killjoys were out in the open, most of the time, causing as much trouble and as many problems as they could for Better Living Industries. They attempted on numerous occasions to force the company's questionable tactics out into the harsh light of day with the help of the pirate radio station and Doctor Death Defying.

Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Jet Star and Kobra Kid were the names Better Living Industries and the rest of the world knew them by, and no one knew where they came from, just that they were suddenly there, bright as beacons in the pitch black night. Wanted posters of each were splattered through every town and every Zone. Better Living's Scarecrow Tactical Unit, and their underlings the Draculoids, were desperate to put an end to their raids and the destruction the Killjoys left behind. But they couldn't be caught or contained, no matter how hard Scarecrow tried. Too many people helped them hide from the all-seeing eye of the corporation. Besides, it's almost impossible to wipe out an idea once it's been formed.

They really shouldn't have, but the Killjoys inspired a lot of people to take a stand and fight back any way they could. Now the number of Killjoys ranged in the hundreds in the Zones instead of the low double digits. There was a wider network of supporters. Some moved on to other parts of the country – the cities were Better Living were initializing programs similar to those in Battery City – hoping to help spread the movement and inspire others to make a stand, to take back their futures and their freedom. Some dropped the helm in order to protect those they loved. And some either died or were taking into Better Living custody, never to be seen or heard from again.

It was a hard, desolate life that challenged the survival skills of all those who decided to played the game. Sickness and starvation still ran rampant, concerning those not inside the Better Living fold. Families were still being torn apart and orphans left to fend for themselves in an increasingly brutal and cruel world. But hope, dormant and fragile these last few years, finally burst into a living flame that lived in the hearts of the believers, the supporters, the dreamers and the fighters.

The barking of a dog broke into Beth's thoughts and she frowned, looking up from the papers spread across the rickety desk in her bedroom. It was the only place she could work on future plans without being interrupted or spied on. She strolled over to the window facing the front of the house and tried to see through the dust to whatever was coming up the driveway. All she could see was a car. Her frown deepened as she reached into the small hidden compartment in the desk and pulled out one of the few weapons kept inside the house.

It wasn't unusual for strangers to come knocking, hoping for things she didn't really have to give. It happened more often than not. When she had just herself to worry about, it didn't much matter. She shared what she could and told the strangers they could rest until morning. And if they decided what she offered wasn't enough, well, she learned long ago how to take care of herself in any situation. Now – now she had other depending on her for safety and security. She couldn't take those chances anymore.

She strode into the kitchen, glancing over at Tasha briefly as she made her way to the window to get a better look outside. It was just as dirty and grimy as the bedroom window.

Living out in the desert had its perks and its disadvantages. One of the perks, it was remote so they didn't receive many unwanted visitors. One of the disadvantages, everything from the windows to the surfaces in the house tended to have a fine coating of red dust no matter how many times the house was cleaned.

With a shake of her head and a silent curse, she sighed and squinted out into the darkened landscape, wondering if she'd have to use the weapon she now held. She glanced over at Tasha and arched an eyebrow at the young woman. Tasha shrugged, silently informing the other she had no idea who could be heading in their direction. Skittles, hearing the dog bark, raced into the kitchen, dark eyes wide with panic.

Skittles had been with her the longest – almost four years. In those years, he'd only spoken a handful of words. The bulk of those words had been spoken a couple of months after the Killjoys dropped him off to her for safekeeping. He'd asked if he could stay. At the time, the question broke her heart. She told him he could stay as long as he wanted, that he would always have a home no matter what happened. He'd looked so relieved she almost cried.

Since Skittles' appearance, five others had shown up at various times from the Killjoys, with a sixth showing up on her own in the middle of the night in an escape from an abusive partner. It became almost a tradition. Each time the Killjoys stopped by, they always brought something she needed. These were always either children or someone in need of nurturing.

She learned early on that none of the kids had honest to god names, just nicknames. She supposed it made dealing with the past much easier if the person could distance themselves from the memories by giving themselves new names – names that were nonsensical and lighthearted.

Skittles had gotten his because of how he'd been found. He'd been wandering from store to store in a rundown town on the outskirts of Zone 6 that had been evacuated during the natural disasters and never inhabited again. He'd been found searching for bags and bags of his namesake candy. No one knew if he had any family or just how old he was.

When he began to trust her a little more, she tried to ask him, but he'd only shrugged as if to tell her it either didn't matter or he couldn't remember. That knowledge saddened her, but unfortunately, it wasn't exclusive to the boy. There were many families that were torn apart during the natural disasters and the Helium Wars, even later during the resettling and re-civilization of the country. He was no exception.

All things considered, they all guessed he was somewhere around the age of thirteen or fourteen by now. His build and height suggested he still had a lot of growing room left, but because he acted so uncharacteristically for a child or teenager, it was hard to determine for sure.

In the year the two of them spent on their own, they'd developed a tight bond with one another. His silence kept her company in the house and she hoped she provided a feeling of security for him. He helped out as much as he could with the chores, always without asking. Sometimes she wondered if he thought she'd ask him to leave it he didn't take on more than his growing body could handle. She hoped not, but no one truly knows the mind of an emotionally and psychologically scarred child.

Tasha was the next addition to the house, just over a year after Skittles arrived. Beth didn't know if the younger woman found the homestead by pure luck or pure accident. Either way, her self-taught field medical training was sorely tested the twilight Tasha showed up on the doorstep, broken and bleeding and more scared than anyone Beth had ever seen before. It took weeks for Tasha to heal enough to become lucid enough to thank Beth for her hospitality as she tried to climb out of bed. She would have made it out the door by sheer force of will if Beth hadn't made a deal with her to keep her in bed. A weapon was promised if Tasha would only stay long enough to heal and get back to one hundred percent health. Tasha had reluctantly agreed, swearing she would leave the minute she could walk without pain.

It took another handful of weeks for Tasha to build her strength back up, but by then, she had grown comfortable in the house – though trust was a hard commodity to come by. Several months passed before Tasha finally realized that the people within the house could be trusted with her life and her heart. It was then that Tasha began to tell her story.

Tasha had lost her entire family in one fell swoop during the first wave of the Helium Wars. A bomb took out the city she was living in, destroying everything in its path. She survived only because she'd been spent the weekend at a friend's cabin a couple hours away. At seventeen, she was thrown into a world of chaos and fear without family to help protect her from the more nefarious people.

A family friend had taken her in, but as the Helium Wars progressed and more people died, the family taking care of her couldn't afford to continue to do so. Food that was uncontaminated was scarce and they had mouths of their own to feed without adding someone who wasn't related to them. It hurt, but she understood and left to make her own way in the world, never looking back.

By the time she turned twenty, she'd made her way from the East Coast to the West Coast with the help of a small band of brigands – people who used petty crime as a way to survive. They broke into abandoned homes and stole what they could later sell for food or water. It was all fairly violence-free – until they reached the Zones and Battery City. Their crimes then turned violent. It was the only way they felt they could taunt the corporation that attempted to control everything.

Scared, Tasha tried to disappear into the thousands of people in the city as an escape. She'd had three days of freedom before she'd been tracked down and forcibly taken back to the group's headquarters. The leader, someone who might have once loved Tasha, had turned hard an uncaring through weeks and months of hiding and survival. He loaded her into a car and took her out into the middle of nowhere only to beat her to within an inch of her life.

She couldn't remember how long it took to rouse herself and start making her way back toward the bright lights of Battery City. She could only remember the excruciating pain each step was. She was on the verge of collapse when she saw the light at the homestead and decided to take a chance. She never regretted her decision.

Frick and Frack, twin boys, where dropped off by the Killjoys a few short months after Tasha turned up. They were found fighting each other in the desert beyond Zone 6 by Jet Star during one of his many exploration trips to map out the areas beyond the Zones in case they needed to make a run for it. At the time, Jet couldn't tell if the boys were related or if they were in a fight to the death over something he couldn't fathom.

Neither boy would explain what the fight was about, but it certainly wasn't their last. They were the oldest of the children in the house, both being sixteen. They were ornery, loud, and unmanageable and liked to cause as much trouble for one another as they could – just as all boys are wont to do from time to time. Beth was vaguely surprised they hadn't taken off on her, or destroyed the house with some of the fights the two got into. She could only be grateful they hadn't done any serious damage to her home or one another.

Of the two, Frack was the quieter and more levelheaded – which was saying something, since they were both loud enough at times to break the sound barrier. Frack spent what time he had, that wasn't spent exploring with his twin, reading and writing the most amazing stories. He'd been the first to dub her Wendy. Shortly after he started calling her Wendy, he named their ragtag family the Lost Boys. In a way, his observation of their home life was pretty accurate and she couldn't help but feel pleased that they look up to her as a maternal figure.

At the time, he'd been reading "Peter Pan," a book she'd loved as a child, thanks to her own parents. She'd given him the book during one of the rougher nights their first month at the house. It had taken him only a night to read the entire book. In the weeks that followed, he read the book three more times. Then he started demanding more books.

Over the course of the next six months, she'd given him access to every book she owned and had been able to collect in the scant five years she'd been living in the house. He devoured them within weeks. He loved reading so much she suggested he go to one of the Better Living controlled schools, if only for an education. His adamant reaction silenced any other suggestions. Instead, she collected old school books and helped him learn on his own.

Frick, on the other hand, couldn't manage to sit still long enough to read anything more than a manual or a paragraph. Consequently, he spent most of his time out behind the house where a couple of broken down cars were stored away. He was her mechanical genius, spending all of his free time working on one or both of the cars, trying to get them in working order. When he wasn't working on the cars, he was working on the electronics in the house, making sure the stove, oven, fridge and everything else needed to survive wouldn't fall into disrepair and break down.

From time to time, Frick would disappear for a couple of days without telling her where he was going or what he was doing. He always returned with a couple of parts needed for the cars, or random pieces needed to patch other electronics. She never asked where he went – she didn't think her heart could take it – and he never told her. But, she knew him well enough to know he wouldn't take any unnecessary risks – mainly because his brother always stayed behind.

As much trouble as the twins caused together, she wasn't sorry she'd opened her home to them. In the nearly three years they'd spent with her, they'd mellowed greatly – even if emotional explosions still happened frequently, they weren't as violent as the explosions of the past. They could co-exist together without much friction, especially now that the two of them could escape each other for a little while to do their own thing without having to feel guilty and without having to worry about the other.

Tunes, a beautiful child around twelve-years-old, was the next to be added to their ragtag family about five months after the twins were delivered kicking and screaming to her doorstep. She was named because of the headphones she was never without. It didn't matter to her what type of music was playing, just as long as the headphone played _something_. Beth rationed it was probably due to the fact that before she was found by the Killjoys, she spent most of her time trying to block out the sounds of a city tearing itself apart.

She didn't talk much about her family, other than to say that her mother was once a singer and her father a part of an orchestra at one of the opera houses in a city further away than Beth had ever traveled. She spoke of them rarely, but when she did, a wistful smile crossed her features as she tried to imagine what her life would have been like if her parents had survived the Helium Wars. Beth had no doubt Tunes would have followed in her parents' footsteps and become a musician herself.

Tunes, insightful beyond her years, became an integral part of the family after nominating herself the peacekeeper between the other children within the house. Beth didn't know how she did it, but the little girl managed to quell most arguments with a soft word and a smile. It amazed her every time she saw it happen and was thankful she had help with keeping everyone in line.

Shades joined their family a few short weeks after Tunes. At first, he was very unwilling to join their family and was very vocal about it. He swore up and down that his mother and older brother were looking for him, that they would be worried and scared if he didn't return to where he'd been found by the Killjoys.

It was only after the eight-year-old passed out on one of the beds that Party Poison informed her quietly that Shades was found with his mother in an alley. It looked like she had been dead for days, most likely due to either sickness or starvation.

Shades' older brother, however, was nowhere to be found. The only way the Killjoys could get the boy to leave with them was to leave a note hidden away where only his brother could find it, giving important information on where Shades would be until his brother could return to collect him. On the worst nights, the nights when he was the angriest and loneliest, she hoped his brother would show up – if only to ease the child's mind. She also knew she wouldn't give him up without a fight. Not even to family.

As much a Frick and Frack fought and caused a general ruckus, Shades was her problem child. He acted out at random times for no apparent reason that she could see. After spending some time with her, the freak outs happened less frequently, but that part of Shades still reared its violent head from time to time when he was feeling particularly vulnerable.

The culmination of his anger toward everyone happened when the twins decided to coerce Shades into giving up the only thing he had left from his life before he came to live with them – his sunglasses. The ensuing fight overturned tables and chairs, destroyed plates and glasses and resulted in Shades grabbing a knife to fend off the twins – not that they would physically hurt the younger boy, they just wanted to see which buttons to press to get which reaction. At the time, Beth stepped into the middle of the fight, without thinking, and had been inadvertently hurt in the process. The twins wouldn't let up, and that's when she'd gotten angry for the first time in front of any of them.

She'd ordered the twins out of the house, telling them she would decide later when they would be allowed back inside. The twins hadn't liked their banishment, but had grumblingly followed her orders and proceeded to pout on the front steps, complaining loudly the entire time about not being treated fairly.

Shades, horrified that he actually hurt someone, had disappeared into the basement to hide from the world. After cleaning herself up and wrapping a bandage around her arm, she joined Shades in the basement and asked for an explanation. She knew he hadn't meant to hurt anyone, let alone her, but she needed to know what happened to set him off – other than the twins and their inability to leave people well enough alone. For the first time since he was brought to her, he began crying. Concentrating on what he was saying, she finally began to understand.

The sunglasses were the last thing his older brother had given him before he disappeared while looking for food and medicine for him and their mother. His brother told him the sunglasses would protect him from the people who would hurt him and to never take them off unless he was sure he was safe. He hadn't taken them off since that day, not even to sleep.

She cried with him that afternoon as they huddled together in the basement. She promised him that he would always be safe with her and that the twins would never attempt to take anything from him again, she would make sure of it. Amazingly enough he'd believed her and allowed her to comfort him. His behavior changed for the better that day. She was thankful, even now, that she was able to reach past his walls and provide for him something he hadn't received in a long time – comfort, affection, love.

Pinky was the final addition. She was also the youngest. At three, she'd gotten her nickname because she only believed promises if they were made with pinky fingers. It was endearing and innocent, something Beth sorely missed – even if taking care of six kids wore her out to the point of exhaustion every day. But, there was no one else to do it, and she didn't have the heart to send any of them away. So, they stayed and they all made the best of it.

Pinky's story wasn't one anyone knew. She was found when she was too young to talk. She couldn't really understand what was going on around her, so even if she _could_ talk, she would have known how to explain it all. The toddler just knew she liked Party Poison's bright red hair and willingly let him scoop her up and take her anywhere he wanted to go – a frightening concept considering anyone more nefarious could have harmed or possibly killed her, or worse. She was safe now, and as much as Beth tried not to, she considered Pinky her own since she was brought to her so young.

With a mental shake, Beth gave Tasha and Skittles a reassuring smile. She tossed a brief thank you to the powers that be that Frick, Frack and Shades were too far away to hear the dog making a ruckus. Tunes was in her room, listening to music on headphones that were too broken to transport anymore. Pinky, who idolized Tunes, was most likely asleep in her little cubby in the room they shared – the only place she felt comfortable and safe enough to sleep.

"Stay in the house until I say otherwise." She met Skittles' worried gaze with a calm one of her own. "Protect the girls." She knew without asking that he'd do as she said without argument.

Beth pulled open the door, hiding the gun in the waist of her faded jeans, the flap of her jacket concealing it from view. She pushed hair out of her face and slipped on a pair of sunglasses to protect her eyes from the last harsh rays of the sun as it sank below the horizon. Stepping out onto the porch, she closed the door behind her and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for the car to approach. It was the longest few minutes of her life. Unaware that she'd been holding her breath, she hissed it out through clenched teeth when the emblem on the car became visible.

Blood turned to ice in her veins and she barely refrained from bolting back into the house. Somehow, Better Living had found her and they had sent a Unit to carry out whatever threat they'd concocted for her benefit. Straightening her spine, she strode back into the house and glanced from Skittles to Tasha.

"Go into the girls' room. Lock the door. Don't come out for anything, Skittles. Do you hear me? Don't come out until one of us tells you its safe." Beth met the boy's unflinching gaze. He remained silent for a moment, then sighed and disappeared into the back of the house where the bedrooms were located.

"What's going on?" Tasha inquired, arching an eyebrow as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Better Living. I don't know why they're here." Beth sighed, shaking her head. She removed the gun from the waist of her jeans and stored it on the top shelf in one of the kitchen cabinets. The last thing she needed was for one of the kids to find it.

"Shit." Tasha groaned, closing her eyes.

"Everything will be fine. But, in case they ask questions, play stupid. We can't give them anything they're looking for. You don't know the Killjoys. You don't know who they are or what they're about. You've never heard of them before. You just showed up here one night a few years back and needed some medical attention. The kids got attached and you decided to stay." Beth informed her friend quickly, giving a back-story that was vague enough to be believable.

"What are you going to do?" Tasha inquired, pulled aside a dark curtain to glance out the window. Her eyes narrowed, watching carefully as her surroundings changed.

The car pulled to a stop and remained motionless for a few moments. No one inside the car moved or even spoke. It was unnerving to watch. She could just imagine what it was like inside. She shivered and shook her head, sighing heavily as she turned to Beth.

"I can't make up a story for myself. They already have an idea that I'm somehow connected to the Killjoys. They don't know what those connections are and I plan on keeping it that way. I'm just going to try my best to steer them away from the kids. They don't need to be dragged into this." Beth mumbled, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, mind whirling with all the possibilities.

Better Living never sent operatives to a home unless they had proof of something. She hadn't been all that active in the underground recently, so they weren't coming to see her for new transgressions against the company. It had to be something from the past, or they were here to gather information on the four most wanted men in the country.

"And if the worst happens?" Tasha demanded, catching her friend's attention.

"Then you take the kids. You run. You don't stop. You don't look back." Beth winced when the dog stopped barking abruptly. That was never a good sign. She hoped Pax was okay and just hiding because he was scared.

"What about you?" Tasha inquired again.

"They're not here to question anyone but me." Beth shook her head, sighing. "Don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I've tangled with BL/ind. I'll figure something out. I always do." She assured, forcing a smile for the other woman's benefit.

"And if they take you?" Tasha's eyes narrowed stubbornly, glancing toward the window again. The men in the car still hadn't moved.

"You let me go and forget about me." Beth shrugged a shoulder helplessly. It wasn't something she _wanted_ to happen, but the kids needed to be safe. She could tolerate anything as long as the kids were protected.

"Forget about you?" Tasha demanded incredulously, lifting both her eyebrows. She shook her head, gritting her teeth.

"That's what I said." Beth nodded. "Don't tell the Killjoys, don't explain to the kids. Just, forget about me. If I can escape, I will."

"They won't like it." Tasha warned, heart lurching in her chest. This wasn't what she expected when the day started a few hours ago.

"They won't have a choice. No one's getting hurt or killed over me." Beth countered shortly. She sighed and closed her eyes. "It's best for everyone this way. You've heard the stories."

"Of course I've heard the stories. _Everyone _has heard the stories. So have Poison and Ghoul. They're _not_ going to just forget." Tasha shook her head, glancing over her shoulder when she heard a noise coming from the back of the house. She frowned, listening intently, but didn't hear anything else.

"They will. Because it's better for them if they do." Beth swallowed tightly and took a deep breath.

"You're not a sacrificial lamb being led to the slaughter, you know. You _can_ fight back." Tasha reminded impatiently.

"There's a time and a place for everything. If I fight, this place will turn into the OK Corral. I can't risk anyone else getting hurt." Beth shook her head. She appreciated her friend's concern, but she just couldn't do it. Not if it meant people she cared about getting hurt.

"You're an idiot." Tasha scowled at her friend.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. It's appreciated." Beth rolled her eyes heavenward, tossing a hand into the air.

"They'll find out." Tasha warned ominously. "And because they'll find out through someone who isn't me, they'll be even angrier than if I'd just come right out and told them."

"Shit." A block of ice settled in Beth's stomach.

"What?" Tasha demanded sharply.

"Scarecrow Tactical Unit." Beth mumbled distractedly, meeting her friend's worried gaze.

"Oh, yeah, this is _not_ going to go well." Tasha mumbled, rubbing a hand over her face. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself, almost flinching when a loud knock sounded on the door and reverberated through the kitchen.

"Here goes everything." Beth mumbled and pulled open the door.

Two members of the Scarecrow Tactical Unit stepped inside, flanked by two of their insubordinates, the Draculoids. Their gazes were so cold and unnerving that both women barely suppressed shivers of fear.

"Are you Elizabeth McLeod?" Scarecrow One demanded, voice echoing slightly off the kitchen walls with the authority he possessed.

"I am." Beth spoke up, relieved her voice didn't tremble the way her stomach did.

The full power of his gaze leveled at Beth and she swallowed thickly. She remained silent, mentally chiding herself for the fingers of fear that clenched around her stomach. She'd faced worse. In the past, she'd been in the thick of things and sometimes had to shoot her way out in order to survive to tell the tale.

This was different. Those instances were out in the open, guerilla warfare with more than just one person. There had been a crowd she could blend in with. A unit showing up to her home, a home no one really knew about, smacked of black ops, a clandestine mission where people who didn't cooperate tended to disappear.

"We're here to question you on your knowledge of the Killjoys and their whereabouts." Scarecrow Two informed her, startling her enough so she flicked her gaze toward him.

"I don't know who you're talking about." Beth shook her head, frowning slightly in feigned confusion.

"Lying will get you nowhere." Scarecrow Two informed her icily.

"I'm not lying." Beth exclaimed, gritting her teeth against the words aching to be released. "Do you know how many Killjoys there are? Hundreds, maybe even thousands. I don't know any of them." She almost flinched when Scarecrow Two's eyes narrowed at her suspiciously. They weren't going to believe her. She figured as much, but she held out hope that she had the ability to convince them this was all a big misunderstanding.

"Lying will get you nowhere." Scarecrow Two repeated.

Beth glanced over at Scarecrow One and nodded toward his partner. "You might want to hit your comrade in the head." She began idly. "He's repeating himself. He might have faulty software or something."

"Do you know the whereabouts of the Killjoys that call themselves Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kid Kobra and Jet Star?" Scarecrow One demanded loudly, taking a step further into the kitchen.

Beth held her ground, mentally chiding herself for the sudden, inane fear she felt. This was _her_ home. She knew all the secrets it held and could easily defend herself if it came right down to it.

"I'm sorry, who?" Beth lifted both her eyebrows.

"Do you know the whereabouts of the Killjoys that call themselves Party Poison, Fun Ghoul, Kid Kobra and Jet Star?" Scarecrow One repeated, glancing over at his partner.

"I see it runs in the family." Beth mused, sighing heavily. She tossed an amusedly quelling look at Tasha when the other woman snickered softly.

The attention of the Scarecrows turned to Tasha. They gazed at her for a moment in silence.

"You are?" Scarecrow Two demanded idly, sounding bored with the entire conversation.

"Tasha." She spoke up, voice clear. She refused to let any of these bastards see her fear.

"Why are you here?" Scarecrow One inquired.

"I live here." Tasha shrugged a shoulder, glancing over at Beth.

"What is your connection to the Killjoys?" Scarecrow One changed tactics, gaze never wavering from Tasha's.

Tasha took a deep, silent breath to calm herself. "Is that a band? Do they make music?" She made a face, shaking her head.

"This is not a joke." Scarecrow One shook his head, hand resting on the gun holster hanging from his belt.

"I'm not laughing." Tasha muttered, holding her hands up. "I'm seriously asking, because The Killjoys would be an awesome band name."

"The Killjoys are domestic terrorists." Scarecrow Two informed them, bitterness coloring his tone.

"Oh. Well, that's too bad." Tasha frowned thoughtfully. "What have they done?"

"They've bomb multiple facilities, murdered innocent people." Scarecrow One's eyes returned to Beth.

"Murder. That's a serious crime." Tasha nodded slowly, a slow finger of dread tracing the length of her spine. This wasn't going how she'd hoped. But then, she knew without thinking that something bad was going to happen during this exchange. She'd felt it coming for days. She just hadn't known _when_ it was going to happen.

"Yes, it is. Which is why we're here. Your friend has a known connection to the Killjoys." Scarecrow Two pivoted, turning back toward Beth.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Beth countered angrily, shaking her head.

"And I state again, lying will get you nowhere." Scarecrow Two's voice lifted to a subdued shout. He signaled to someone outside. Another member of the Scarecrow Tactical Unit stepped into the house, holding Shades and Frack by the back of their necks. He shoved the kids into the kitchen in front him, fingers tightening around their necks when they tried to escape.

"Wendy!" Shades yelped, face blanched with fear.

"You've gone from terrorizing the general population to terrorizing children?" Beth demanded, reaching for her boys.

"You will tell us what we want to know, or the outcome of this interview will not be one you like." Scarecrow One advised, voice deceptively soft.

"I don't take kindly to threats." Beth's eyes narrowed, fingers curling to fists at her sides.

"Then give us the information we require!" Scarecrow Two gave up all pretenses and began shouting.

"I can't tell you anything because I don't know anything! How is threatening my kids a good idea?" Beth shouted back, vision becoming a little hazy. No one threatened her family and got away with it.

"You know something." Scarecrow One countered with a shake of his head.

"Leave my kids alone." Beth met their eyes, one by one.

"Or what?" Scarecrow Three finally spoke up, amused.

"You obviously don't know what you're getting yourself into when fucking with a mother's child." Beth muttered, fingernails biting painfully into the palms of her hands.

Before she let herself think about the consequences, she recalled the basic combat training she'd received on the streets when she was a teenager. She raised her fist and swung at Scarecrow Two. He stumbled backward into the kitchen counter. Using the distraction, she leveled a kick to Scarecrow One's chest. He went sprawling onto the floor, gaping up at her for a brief moment. A pain filled yelp from Shades gave her pause.

"You have a choice. You can come back to Battery City with us for extensive questioning or we'll round up your brats and enroll them into the program." Scarecrow Three informed the room ominously.

Beth's heart went cold. She sighed, closing her eyes, head bowing forward in defeat. She wouldn't fight, especially if it endangered her kids.

"Wendy, no!" Shades shook his head, wincing when Scarecrow Three pulled him back a step.

"Everything will be fine." Beth assured, forcing a smile. "They just want to ask me some questions, When they figure out I don't know anything, I'll be back." She let her arms hang limply at her sides, watching warily as Scarecrow One strode over to her and pulled her hands behind her back to snap handcuffs into place.

"You can't go with them!" Shade exclaimed, lower lip trembling slightly as he and Frack were shoved forward.

Beth lifted her eyes, meeting Tasha's gaze. Tasha remained motionless for a moment before she nodded, reaching for Shades. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders from behind and pulled him back against her, both as a restraint and a hug.

Beth smiled again, giving Shades a wink before she was pulled around and hustled out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Gerard glanced in the review mirror and sighed in relief when he saw no headlights. The last couple of weeks had been long and exhausting. They'd spent some time out in the desert trying to locate as many of BL/ind's security cameras as they could so they could bring the information back to Oracle and she could tap into the company's resources to spy on them. Fourteen cameras in remote areas and counting, most being in deserted towns Killjoys would meet to plan attacks on the company.

He pulled into the driveway of the house they made frequent stops in and twisted the key in the ignition. The engine's purr silenced and the four men inside the car gazed at the darkened windows of the house with both relief and wariness. It was the only place any of them could really call home, even if they didn't technically live within the walls. It was more of a feeling they received from the family who _did_.

He glanced over at his team, the friends that had turned into family over the years, when they began hoisting themselves out of the car to stretch and complain good-naturedly as they unloaded what meager belongings they'd managed to hold onto. A ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his lips and he shook his head. It didn't seem to matter if the mission they'd given themselves went smooth or rough; the amount of complaining remained the same. It'd become a game to them all.

With a shake of his head, he returned his attention to the house in front of them, only listening absentmindedly to his friends' complaints. His eyes strayed to the window he knew was her bedroom and sighed. The window was dark, much like the rest of the house. Candlelight flickered from within the kitchen, casting dancing shadows against the curtains in the kitchen windows. He frowned, wondering if they'd lost power again. He'd have to ask Frankie or Ray to take a look at the circuits again to make sure they hadn't deteriorated any further.

Muttering under his breath, he climbed out of the car and stretched aching muscles cautiously. Two hours of inactivity spent in the car after hiking in the desert for more than a week had made him sore to the point of creating the desire not the move for the next year. The ride hadn't been any easier with Frankie and Mike in the backseat, bickering loudly on what pre-Helium Wars children's cartoon was the best. He rolled his eyes, snorting softly. And these were the men who were trying to save humanity.

"We're all doomed." Gerard muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand.

"You say something?" Mike, his younger brother by three years, inquired, startled.

"Nothing important." Gerard shook his head, smiling tiredly.

"We seriously need a few days off." Ray groaned, stretching his back hard enough to hear his spine pop. He sighed in momentary relief and frowned. "Maybe a week." He revised, rolling his shoulders.

"Definitely." Mike agreed quickly, slinging the strap of a duffel bag over his shoulder.

"I could possibly agree to that." Gerard nodded slowly, opening the trunk. He shoved aside dust covered jackets and various computer equipment to reach the duffel bags hiding beneath them. They never turned up at the house without something to give them. Usually it was coffee and a few other items that were sometimes hard to come by. This time, they'd found coffee and, of all things, Twinkies. It would make the kids happy at least.

"Aw, can I still blow shit up?" Frankie complained loudly, whining much like a teenager throwing a temper tantrum for not being able to stay out as late as he wanted.

Gerard arched an eyebrow at him, snickering as he hoisted the two duffel bags for the family over his shoulder and reached for a third containing his personal belongings. He closed the trunk and smirked at Frankie.

"What? I have a few new things I want to try out." Frankie exclaimed defensively, rolling his eyes heavenward.

"Small scale; no closer than a mile to the house." Gerard listed off his requirements, glancing over at Ray when the other man laughed.

"Aye, aye captain." Frankie agreed with a smile, saluting their fearless leader with his middle finger.

"Fuck off, dude." Gerard laughed, returning the gesture as he headed toward the house.

"So, we're really taking a few days off?" Ray inquired, falling into step beside his friend.

"Don't see why we can't. We're all pretty worn." Gerard shrugged a shoulder, frowning slightly. Pax wasn't anywhere in sight. Usually the dog greeted them with lots of barking and tail wagging.

"I'm crashing here tonight, then I'm going to take one of the beaters and head out to see Meagan." Ray sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'll drop off the data we gathered and help her hack into the system and set up some parameters of her own."

"And that's all you're going to do." Mike laughed, giving his friend a playful shove.

"Did we suddenly revert back to horny teenagers?" Ray snorted, returning the gesture.

Mike stumbled briefly before catching himself by inadvertently shoving Gerard forward. Gerard paused, heaved a long-suffering sigh and split a glare between Ray and Mike.

"He started it." Mike and Ray informed him in unison, point the finger at the person in front of them.

"Oh, sure. Blame the midget. I get it." Frankie grumbled, pushing open the front door. "Honey, we're home!" He burst into the kitchen, the others following closely behind.

"Hey guys." Tasha glanced up from the papers spread out on the kitchen table, gathering them together guiltily. She stuffed them back into the book they were hidden in to begin with and forced a smile as she climbed to her feet.

Mike dropped his duffel bag on the floor near the front door and strolled over to her to drop a kiss to her lips. Her smile turned slightly genuine as she leaned against him for a brief moment of comfort. The last six days hadn't been the easiest for her.

"Where's Beth?" Gerard inquired suddenly, an icy finger of dread tracing the length of his spine when Tasha wouldn't meet his questioning gaze.

"Um." Tasha shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, watching as Frankie poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Tasha, where's Beth?" Gerard inquired again. A slow finger of dread wrapped around the base of his spine and plucked on the nerves residing there.

"She's, um, not here." Tasha hedged, stepping quickly to the other side of the table to put a little distance between herself and the boys.

"I gathered. Where is she?" Gerard demanded, eyes narrowing.

"I'm not entirely sure." Tasha winced, sighing.

"Someone better start explaining. Now." Gerard's wariness fled and was replaced by sudden, irrational anger.

Tasha flushed, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. She'd been preparing for this moment, but the way they were all looking at her, expecting her to answer immediately, it made her a little nervous and a whole lot wary. They wouldn't take what she had to say well. They would get angry and because they wouldn't be able to take it out on the people deserving, she would get the brunt of it.

"You have to save her." A young voice demanded from the kitchen doorway.

Five pairs of eyes swung to the voice's owner and everyone froze. Shades stood, glaring at them defiantly – without his sunglasses. His eyes were the most startling shade of green. Everyone remained silent, processing the angry boy standing in the doorway.

"You have to save her." Shades demanded a second time, hands clenched into fists at his sides. He practically vibrated with fear and rage.

"What?" Gerard turned his complete attention to the boy.

"Shades…" Tasha sighed, falling silent when Gerard sent her a silencing look. She gritted her teeth, barely refraining from showing him exactly what she thought of his take-charge attitude when she had been dealing with the fallout, alone, with three children who either couldn't or wouldn't understand their new reality.

"They came." Shades gestured toward the front door with a fist. "They came and they took her."

"Who came?" Frankie arched an eyebrow; his coffee cup paused halfway to his lips.

"White suits." Shades hung his head, shoulders slumping. "That's all they were. White suits."

"Better Living." Gerard swore darkly, hissing a sigh between his teeth.

"How'd they even _find_ her?" Ray inquired, glancing around the room.

"We have a turncoat in our midst." Frankie offered, setting his coffee cup on the counter hard enough for the steaming liquid to slosh over the sides and burn his fingers.

"No." Mike shook his head. "No way. We'd have spotted someone trying to sell us out. _Something_ would have happened before now."

"Then how'd they find this house? How did they know she was even here? We made sure to keep this quiet." Ray countered, lifting both his eyebrows as he dropped down onto one of the kitchen chairs. He was too tired to process this information, but sleep wouldn't be an option tonight. Not if Better Living took one of their own.

"A better question would be why they were here?" Frankie muttered, frowning deeply as he mentally went through the list of Killjoys they met with on a regular basis. If someone had betrayed them, it would have to be someone close to them. No one outside of a select few knew where they made their pit stops – if stopping for much needed rest, food, and care constituted as a pit stop.

"Because of us." Gerard gestured helplessly with a hand. "She'll be safe, you said. They'll never figure out which house. There are too many families around to make it easy to find them. _Damn it_. I _knew_ we shouldn't have kept coming back."

Tasha flinched at the fury in Gerard's voice, watching as he paced the length of the kitchen like a caged animal on the prowl. She glanced over at Shades, her heart going out to him. The poor kid had gotten the rotten end of the deal when this happened. Tasha could understand and ration out the events, but Shades didn't understand anything more than the person who was like a mother to him was taken away from him. In his mind, he was reliving what happened to him before and it wasn't easy.

"They threatened her. They told her if she didn't go with them willingly, they'd take the kids and enroll them in the program. She couldn't let that happen." Tasha explained, shaking her head slowly.

"It's our fault." Shades mumbled, eyes filling with tears. "She never would've left if we weren't here."

"That's not true." Tasha countered gently, resting her hands on Shades' shoulders.

"No, kid. It's _our_ fault." Gerard sighed, gesturing toward himself and the three other Killjoys in the room.

"Save her." Shades demanded, lower lip trembling.

"We will." Frankie assured, voice firm.

"Promise?" Shades leveled his tortured gaze at Gerard.

"Sure, kid, we promise." Frankie nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

"You'll bring her back?" Shades inquired hopefully.

"I'm not sure that's possible." Gerard sighed, shaking his head. "But, we'll make sure she's safe. That much we can promise." He amended, trying to find the words to explain.

"No! Bring her back! We need her!" Shades suddenly shouted, causing those closest to him to flinch back. This was the Shades of old, all temper and bad attitude. "She's our Wendy. The Lost Boys can't get along without her!"

"Shades…" Gerard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.

"No! She's our mother – the only mother some of us can remember, the only mother Pinky's ever had!" Shade refuted, shaking his head angrily.

"It wouldn't be safe to bring her back here. They'd just come back and take her again. And next time, it won't be nearly so civil." Gerard tried to ration with the angry boy. It was impossible. Shades didn't want to hear any answer other than yes.

"We'll protect her. We'll make sure they won't take her again, even if I have to kill them all!" Shades sounded so fiercely loyal and protective that no one in the room doubted what he said. He glared at Gerard for a moment longer before slamming out the back door and into the night.

"You can't separate them." Tasha informed them gently. "It'll destroy those kids. It'll destroy _her_."

"Someone should go after him." Frankie suggested, tilting his head toward the back door.

"I'll go." Gerard sighed when Tasha made a move to follow the boy.

Tasha shrugged a shoulder, watching as Gerard disappeared after Shades before turning to Mike, Ray and Frankie. Each were lost in their own thoughts, trying to figure out who was giving up information on them and how they could infiltrate a BL/ind building to find their missing woman.

"You might want to have a seat." Frankie gestured toward the kitchen table, glancing over at Tasha.

"Why?" She inquired warily.

"We're going through this with a fine tooth comb." Frankie shrugged, picking up his coffee cup. He dropped into an empty chair and gazed expectantly at her.

"How do you mean?" She made a face, pouring herself a cup of coffee before following suit. She cupped her hands around the coffee mug, trying to warm herself.

"What happened when they showed up?" Frankie glanced over at Mike when he pulled out the chair beside Tasha and took a seat. He reached for her hand and threaded their fingers together, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Well, first they made balloon animals and then they juggled a few kittens. What the hell do you _think_ happened?" Tasha demanded sharply, tossing Frankie a glare. "They didn't pull their guns. They didn't do much of anything at first. They knocked on the door and asked for Beth." She continued with a shrug.

"What then?" Frankie urged, ignoring the sarcasm for a moment, though his lips twitched at the visual her words produced.

"They started asking a bunch of questions about the Killjoys, saying they got information from someone that led them to believe she was a supporter and how it could be unhealthy of her family." She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face tiredly.

Frankie remained silently, gazing at her patiently. The only time he was ever quiet or patient was when someone passed along information he didn't already have on Better Living. He'd lost too much not to add to his knowledge.

"Okay, they started threatening her. I'm guessing her response wasn't what they were hoping for." Mike settled back against his chair, glancing between Frankie and Ray.

"Does Beth strike you as the type to go quietly?" She snorted, eyes dropping to the mug in front of her. "Pinky and Tunes were in their room. The rest of the kids were out exploring somewhere. Skittles must have known something was up because he showed up out of nowhere and stuck as close to Beth as he could – before she asked him to protect the girls." Her voice dropped as her mind conjured the emotions and memories of that night. Her friend being taken by BL/ind operatives was only a fraction of what she had to deal with that day. The fallout with the kids afterward had somehow been so much worse than the actual event.

"Then?" Frankie prompted gently, resting his elbows on the table.

"Then, what?" She countered, lifting her gaze to meet his. "They started demanding to know who you were, to know _where_ you were."

Frankie hissed a breath between his teeth, glancing over at Ray. The same thing was running through all of their minds. They had overstayed their welcome and had gotten good people into some seriously deep water with the corporation trying to take over the world.

"She didn't tell them anything." Tasha muttered defensively, folding her arms across her chest. "She didn't tell them anything and that's when they started threatening the kids. She couldn't take that, so she didn't argue when they demanded she go with them for further questioning."

"Did they connect you to us?" Mike inquired suddenly, his heart lurching wildly in his chest. He could face down members of a corrupt and controlling corporation and not bat an eye, but the thought of the woman he loved in peril scared the hell out of him.

"What?" She made a face, shifting in her chair to face him.

"Does Better Living think you're a supporter?" Mike rephrased the question, biting back a sigh of impatience.

"Oh." She settled back in her chair with a shake of her head. "No. We came up with some bullshit story on how I showed up here one night after a bunch of guys beat me and kicked me out of a car about three miles from here." She flushed when three pairs of stunned eyes landed on her. "What?" Beth's inventive when she needs to be."

"And they believed that story?" Mike arched an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair to rest his elbows on the table.

"They didn't give any indication they didn't." She shrugged a shoulder and rubbed the back of her neck with a hand. All the stress from the last week seemed to have taken up residence in her shoulders. "I can play stupid when I need to."

"That's something, I guess." Mike released a sigh of relief, reaching for her hand again. He pressed a brief kiss to her knuckles before threading their fingers together.

"Shades lost his mind." Tasha mused, gazing at the gains lining the wooden table. "He tried to stop it. It was all I could do to keep him from going after them and physically attacking the car. He hated that I stopped him, but he's just a boy. He didn't know what they could do to him. Skittles and the twins took off sometime during the night. I have no idea where they are. I'm guessing since Beth is gone, they didn't' really have anything to hold them here. They only stayed because of her, anyway."

"That doesn't make sense with Skittles." Frankie frowned, shaking his head slowly. "That kid wouldn't go anywhere without Beth."

"Yeah. I was thinking that, too." Tasha agreed readily. "But, the twins _can_ be pretty persuasive."

"There has to be more to it than that." Frankie sighed, settling back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Maybe. I don't know." She glanced over at Mike. Her insides felt a little shaky.

Unable to take his sympathetic gaze, she shot to her feet and strode over to the kitchen counter where the coffee maker was stored. She went through the motions of starting a fresh pot of coffee. Lord knew they would probably need as much of it as they could get, especially if they were going to try and figure out what to do next.

Mike climbed to his feet and followed her. He rested his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. She swallowed tightly, gazing at a specific spot on his shirt. His hands lifted to cup to her cheeks, forcing her to look at him. She closed her eyes tightly and he sighed, pulling her into his arms to deliver what comfort he could.

The last week rested on her shoulders like a ton of bricks, weighing her down like nothing else could. When it was just her, she could deal with the responsibility and stress this whole situation created because other lives didn't hinge on hers for survival. Now she had three kids who were depending on her to rescue their "mother," and three more kids that disappeared into the night without leaving any inkling on where they were going or what they were doing. She hoped they were safe, if not entirely out of trouble. The twins staying out of trouble was a feat even the gods couldn't make a reality.

"Everything will work out." Mike murmured in an attempt to comfort her, lips brushing against the top of her head.

"How?" She demanded, voice muffled by his shirt. "Better Living has Beth. Half the kids are scared and the other half are missing. You're going to plan something stupid to get her back. How is this all going to work out?"

"Hey, we excel at stupid." Frankie smiled at them. "We're masters. And we always manage to come back alive, right?"

"Usually one of more of you needs patching up." Tasha reminded, pulling away from Mike enough to toss Frankie a quelling look.

"Yeah, well, what can I say?" Frankie shrugged a shoulder indolently. "Stupidity has its perks and downfalls, just like everything else."

Gerard shoved his hands into the pockets of his jackets, pausing on the back steps as he scanned the outside of the house and garage for Shades. He knew the boy wouldn't go far, but he also didn't want to be found and it was more than just a little dark outside.

He took a deep breath and let himself think for a moment. A combination of fear, frustration, and anger all warred for dominance only to merge into something new and unnameable. This new beast wrapped fingers around his heart and squeezed until claws pierced him – nearly paralyzing him. He held a hand to his chest and leaned back against the closed door, eyes turned toward the sky.

Beth had gone willingly with BL/ind operatives. The one person he tried to protect above all others and he failed miserably. The knowledge was a bitter taste in his mouth. He grimaced and raked a hand through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment.

He would get her back. He'd move heaven and hell, even purgatory, if it meant getting her back alive and unharmed. He just wasn't sure it was feasible. Better Living didn't have a track record of keeping their subversive captives alive for very long – especially when they refused to cooperate. A reluctant smile tugged the corner of his lips. She wouldn't cooperate. It wasn't in her nature. It was part of the reason he…

He let the thought go unfinished. Dwelling on what-might-have-been would accomplish nothing other than provide a mechanism in which to torture himself with. He had to keep his head in the game if he was going to stage a rescue _and_ keep everyone alive through the mission. But first – first he had to confront a terrified little boy and try to explain to him why his Wendy couldn't come back to him. Sometimes, he really hated being the leader of this ragged group of insurgents.

Mentally preparing himself for whatever emotions that would barrage him as soon as he tried to approach Shades, he pushed himself down the stairs and glanced around. He didn't see any movement – not surprising this late at night. Even the night owls were packing it in for some rest. He was mildly surprised Shades was even awake, but then, from what he'd been told, it was common for the boy to wake up with some seriously screwed up nightmares.

He paused at the bottom of the back steps, tilted his head and closed his eyes as he concentrated on the sounds around him, listening for anything out of place. At first, all he could hear were the normal noises of the night – nocturnal animals foraging for food, the hum of streetlamps in various stages of disrepair, the breeze rustling through the sparse trees and grass. Finally, a noise caught his attention and he smiled, eyes snapping open.

He made his way to the dilapidated garage and pulled open the door. He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the near darkness before moving into the cluttered, musty room. He closed the door behind him and reached for a flashlight sitting on a nearby shelf. Clicking it on, he took a look around, moderately impressed with the walls and walls of junk he saw. If they had more time, he would have asked the rest of the team to help him go through everything to see if there was anything salvageable.

Shades was sitting on the floor against the far corner, a wall of moldy boxes from the previous tenant almost blocking him completely from view. He took a few tentative steps, skirting around a rusted out car and another stack of moldy boxes, wondering vaguely if he should have requested a Tetanus shot before this little excursion.

He took a seat next to Shades and sighed deeply, silently debating if he should wait for the boy to acknowledge his presence or strike up a conversation himself. But when the silence lengthened, he knew he would have to be the first one to speak.

"She wouldn't want you to resort to violence. You know that." Gerard offered, resting his forearms on his bent knees. He slid a glance over at the boy.

"We need her." Shades' voice didn't have the musical lilt it normally held. The boy kept his gaze trained on a spot between his feet, unwilling to participate any more than he was required to.

"I need her, too." Gerard finally sighed after a moment of silence. He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. He didn't like admitting this to himself, let alone having to admit it to a ten-year-old kid.

"Not like we need her." Shades refuted, shaking his head quickly. "Not like Pinky, Tunes and Skittles need her. Not like I need her."

"Maybe not." Gerard mumbled, resting his head back against the wall to gaze at the ceiling.

"You weren't here. You don't know what they've gone through since she left." Shades muttered angrily. "Pinky cries herself to sleep every night. Tunes stopped listening to music. Skittles, Frick and Frack disappeared."

"And you took your sunglasses off." Gerard pointed out gently.

Shades jumped to his feet, hands clenching into fists as the emotional pendulum swung from numb acceptance to furious loss. Gerard climbed to his feet, warily watching as Shades paced the small confines of the garage, lost in his own little world for brief agonizing minutes.

"I took my sunglasses off because I _want_ the bad people to find me! At least I'd be with Wendy then!" Shades nearly shouted. His entire body trembled with the force of the words.

"You wouldn't." Gerard countered gently, shaking his head slowly. "They would have separated the two of you to make sure you wouldn't influence each other. They would have used you against each other. Besides, it would kill her if you were snatched." He tried to explain the way the company worked, unsure if Shades would understand the brevity of the situation. He'd learned long ago not to underestimate anyone, including children. But if he had a hard time understanding the things the company did, how could a ten-year-old boy understand and accept? He knew it was asking too much. It just couldn't be avoided.

"I don't care!" Shades yelled, shoving at Gerard in anger, using all the strength his wiry body possessed. Everything inside him screamed to hit, kick, punch and scream at the man standing in front of him – to punish him for not being there when Wendy needed him most; to punish himself for not being able to protect her the way one of the older boys could have; to release all the frustration crackling along his nerves like a forest fire through dry tinder. "They took her from me, just like they took everything else! We were finally starting to become a _real_ family!"

Gerard remained motionless, silently taking the punches and shoves Shades delivered to him. He deserved no less. At least this way, Shades would release all the pent up fear and anger he'd bottled inside. Shades' anger blew itself out after the first few punches. The boy dropped back down onto the concrete floor in exhaustion, breathing heavy and crying. Gerard crouched in front of him, waiting patiently, heart aching for the pain he witnessed.

"Tasha does her best, but…" Shades trailed off, sniffling miserably with a shrug.

"She's not Beth." Gerard nodded, understanding what Shades didn't have words to describe.

"She's just as scared as the rest of us." Shades mumbled thickly.

"Beth was scared, too." Gerard countered softly.

"She was scared all the time." Shades agreed quickly. "I knew it. We all knew it. But she did her best to hide it. She hid it pretty good. Even when she was scared, she never acted like it." He wiped at the tears streaming his face with dirty hands, leaving streaks of black along his cheeks, chin and nose.

"I'll get her back, Shades. I swear it." Gerard promised, meeting the boy's startling green eyes.

"You'll get her back, but you won't bring her back here to us." Shades countered bitterly, lips twisting into a grimace.

"You want her safe, don't you?" Gerard inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"I want her safe and with us. We need her more than you do." Shades shook his head, glaring defiantly at Gerard.

"The amount is the same; we just need her in different ways." Gerard sighed, shrugging a shoulder helplessly.

"How do _you_ need her? You're a Killjoy. You don't need anyone." Shade's sniffed again, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

"I'll let you in on a little secret." Gerard smiled sadly. "We all need someone at some point – even Killjoys."

"Why do you need her?" Shades demanded dubiously.

"Some of the same reasons you do." Gerard hedged and shrugged a shoulder as he took a seat on the floor in front of him. They were treading into dangerous territory again. Once he laid name to the feelings, it became earth-shatteringly real in a life altering way. He wasn't entirely prepared for that change. Though his heart and soul demanded the opposite, his mind placated both with the knowledge that the longer he kept her at arm's length, the safer she would be in the long run. Now his mutinous heart and soul were chiding him for being over analytical, clueless and stupid all at once.

Shades met his gaze in disbelief and shook his head. Gerard smiled again.

"She takes care of you, right?" Gerard inquired. Shades nodded. "She takes care of me, too. The other reasons are ones you won't understand."

"Because I'm a kid?" Shades demanded bitterly, folding his arms across his chest.

"No. I barely understand it myself." Gerard shook his head, frowning slightly.

Shades lifted his head and met Gerard's eyes. "She makes the bad guys seem not so scary." He informed the other, flushing slightly in embarrassment.

"She makes the noise stop." Gerard replied, gesturing helplessly with a hand. It was the truth.

No matter what seemed to be going on in the world, he could show up at the house and the noise would just…stop. The screaming, the doubts, the pain, the fear – it all seemed to pause for the duration of his stay. He didn't have to be Party Poison, leader. He could take the mask of leadership off without having to worry about being betrayed to his enemies. It wasn't the walls and roof that caused the affect. It was Beth.

"She'd be the mom I'd choose, you know?" Shades inquired, scrubbing his knuckles over his cheeks to erase what was left of the tears. He hated crying in front of people. They always treated him differently afterwards.

"That would make her happy." Gerard offered the boy a smile.

"Yeah." Shades mumbled, sniffing again.

Gerard sighed, eyeing the boy carefully as he made up his mind and came to a decision. It would take a lot of work on everyone's part, especially the children. He hoped they were up to it, especially if they wanted Beth back. "Okay, listen, I'm going against my better judgment here. Think you can handle being an adult for a while?" His gaze turned serious.

Shades lifted his eyebrows in curiosity and nodded. "I can handle just about anything. I watched my other mom die, remember?"

"I remember." Gerard mumbled, frowning. "You're going to need to help Tasha. I want you and her to grab everything you need and load up the kids into that beater truck parked out back. Only take what's necessary. There's a safe house just over an hour from here. Don't let anyone see you. I'll bring her to you there. Do we have a deal?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Promise?" Shades demanded hopefully.

"I promise." Gerard nodded, climbing to his feet. "You'll be able to stay together, but only if you make sure you're careful and not followed. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Shades nodded vigorously, unable to keep a grin from splitting his features.

"Good. Get inside and start packing." Gerard nodded toward the house.

"Thanks, Poison." Shades mumbled, throwing his arms around Gerard's middle and hugging him tightly for a moment before racing back to the house.

Gerard sighed, watching him go, wondering briefly if he was making one of the biggest mistakes of their lives. He'd made a promise he wasn't entirely sure he could keep. If he couldn't bring Beth back to the ragtag family, Shades would be crushed. He would blame Gerard. He sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand and prayed he could accomplish the impossible.

Frankie, Mike, Ray and Tasha all glanced up when the backdoor burst open and Shades ran through the kitchen toward the rear of the house. Their gaze transferred to Gerard when the man stepped through the open doorway and closed the door. He looked worried and apprehensive, which didn't bode well for the rest of them.

"I haven't seen that kid move like that in days. What did you tell him?" Tasha inquired, lifting her eyebrows.

"Everyone's moving to a new safe house." He informed the group, strolling over to the kitchen counter to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Wait, what?" Tasha frowned, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as she glanced from one person to the next.

"Oh, here we go." Ray mumbled, sighing heavily. He glanced toward Frankie, who shrugged, looking just as confused as he felt.

"I thought our main objective was the whole annihilation of Better Living to grab a certain midget woman being held in one of their facilities." Frankie held up a hand, shaking his head slowly.

"It is." Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, leaning back against the kitchen counter, coffee cup held in his free hand. "But, the kids need her and I'm not going to argue with that. Shades will do something stupid if we don't make sure they all stay together. Besides, do you really see her staying away from them willingly?" He gestured helplessly, sighing again.

"Point." Frankie nodded, considering his friend's words. "What's the plan, then?" He arched an eyebrow.

"I see where this is going, and he's not going to like it." Ray advised, shaking his head. His lips twitched in amusement when both Frankie and Gerard tossed him narrow-eyed glares.

"Remember that place in the woods you were telling me about?" Gerard inquired, mentally wincing at his friend's incredulous look.

"You want to put them _there_?" Frankie demanded, groaning loudly.

"You have a better idea?" Gerard countered. "It's the only place within comfortable driving distance that the company doesn't know exists. It's big, there are no neighbors, and on the maps, it's shown as undeveloped forest." He listed off all the qualities, meeting his friend's gaze warily.

"I know. _I_ was the one who found it and told you about it, remember?" Frankie rolled his eyes, tossing his hands into the air.

"Then what's the problem?" Gerard arched an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest.

"I was hoping we could turn it into home base. Doctor D is eventually going to get tired of us using his station as a base of operations." Frankie reminded impatiently. He had grand plans for that particular piece of land.

Just before the natural disasters and the Helium Wars a large non-profit had bought the land. They started developing a summer camp for children with autism and downs syndrome. Before the worst of it hit, they managed to construct one large main houses and about a dozen cabins – all with plumbing and electrical. A second main house was completed in the build, but didn't have the luxury of the other. The worst of the Helium Wars hit just before the plumbing and electrical was installed. Their plan was to add cabins as the need for them arose and as funds would allow. It hadn't been put on any maps because it was privately owned land.

"Who says it can't be both?" Tasha inquired suddenly, reminding everyone of her presence.

"Both? What? Creating explosives and various projectile booms is a good idea with a houseful of kids?" Frankie snorted, lifting his eyebrows at Tasha.

"Didn't you say there's a main house and a few outer buildings?" Gerard's question brought the attention back to him.

"Oh, fine. Whatever." Frankie waved a hand in the air, lips twisting into a frown. "Use it if you want. I'll look around for something else to accommodate our violence." He muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

"I'm assuming you're staying with the family?" Gerard glanced over at Tasha.

"She's going." Mike agreed without hesitation, nodding firmly.

"I _can_ actually speak for myself." Tasha muttered, exasperated. She tossed Mike an amused look and shook her head. He flushed as she turned back to Gerard. "This family's my home. I go where they go." She shrugged.

"Frankie will give you directions. Pack only what you absolutely can't live without. There's not much room in the back of the truck you'll be using, so choose wisely. Whatever you can't manage to grab now can be replaced later." Gerard met Tasha's somber gaze and she nodded, frowning thoughtfully.

"What are _you_ going to do?" Mike inquired suddenly.

"I have a phone call to make." Gerard mumbled, rolling his head from side to side in the hope of easing some of the tension in his neck and shoulders.

"Oracle?" Frankie arched an eyebrow.

"Oracle." Gerard nodded, pulling out a cell phone as he wanders toward the doorway leading to the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Tasha drummed her fingernails on the kitchen tabletop, glancing from Frankie to Mike to Ray and back again. Her eyes narrowed, lips firming into a thin line. They were planning something. They were planning something and they weren't going to include her. Her gaze settled on Mike and he arched an eyebrow at her in curiosity.

"You're planning something." She accused everyone in the room, though her eyes never wavered from Mike.

"What?" Mike demanded, startled.

"What are you planning?" Tasha spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully.

"We're not planning anything." Mike shook his head warily, a slight frown turning the corners of his lips down.

"Yet." Frankie mumbled, hiding a smile by ducking his head when Mike threw him a quelling look.

"I'm not stupid, Michael." Tasha poked a finger into his chest, eyes narrowing further. "I _know_ you're up to something."

"Ooh." Frankie laughed, eyeing the living room doorway with open curiosity. He'd rather be sitting in the living room listening to Gerard's conversation with Oracle than a lover's spat. "She used the full first name. She's not happy."

"Shut up, Frankie." Tasha snapped, presenting him with a middle finger without deigning to look at him.

"It's nothing you need to worry about." Mike assured, shifting in his chair to face her.

"She's my friend, too." Tasha reminded, voice a little sharper than she intended. It was a tone she hadn't used on him in more than a year.

"I know she is." Mike held up a hand in surrender, sighing.

"And don't pull the 'we've known her longer' bullshit. With as much time as you actually spend here, I've known her longer." Tasha grumbled, climbing to her feet.

"Ouch. She really _is_ mad." Frankie winced, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup, long gone cold. He snuck a glance toward the living room again and sighed. He _really_ wanted to know what was going on.

"If I have to tell you to shut up one more time…" Tasha warned ominously, glaring at the man sitting across the table.

"You'll what? Hiss at me?" Frankie snorted, lifting his gaze to hers.

"How about I'll throw some sharp objects? At. Your. Face." Tasha ground out through clenched teeth. Normally Frankie's humor amused her and she'd quickly become a willing participant. However, tonight, she was in no mood for the prerequisite verbal sparring. She was too tired and emotionally drained and scared to tolerate it.

"Frankie." Mike admonished loudly, shooting to his feet. "Not helping."

Mike sighed, watching as Tasha threw her hands into the air and stormed down the hallway toward her bedroom. He flinched visibly when the bedroom door slammed loud enough to wake the dead. He wondered briefly if the younger kids could sleep through such a ruckus and shook his head. It wasn't the first time there'd been raised voices in this house in the middle of the night. It probably wouldn't be the last.

Mike turned toward Frankie and leveled him with a glare. He arched and eyebrow at his friend and Frankie sighed, holding his hands up in the air.

"Sorry. We're all kind of… tense… right now." Frankie apologized by way of explanation. He pushed himself away from the kitchen table and deposited his dirty mug in the sink, pausing to gaze out the dusty window at the world outside.

"We all get it, man. Just stop being an instigator." Mike mumbled, a tone of pleading coloring his voice.

"I'll stop instigating as soon as we start being a little proactive on how to handle this situation." Frankie countered flatly, gritting his teeth. He _hated_ just sitting around and doing nothing. The planning stage was the worst part, the endless sitting and talking before anything could be done. He knew it was necessary, but it didn't make it any easier to suffer through.

"Gerard's on the phone with Oracle. We'll have a plan soon enough. Just try to relax for a few hours. We had a rough gig and we all need a little downtime before we head back into the thick of things." Mike suggested, clapping his friend on the back of the shoulder.

"Easier said than done." Frankie mumbled and sighed.

"Amen to that. Try anyway." Mike advised and headed down the hallway to the closed bedroom door he knew would lead to an argument and more than a few heated words.

He paused in front of the door, leaning back against the wall and gazed at the scarred and knotted wood. This girl, this small wisp of a girl, had changed his outlook on life in the handful of years he'd known her. Before she tossed his life into chaos, he'd been content going through the motions – helping other people out of jams, protecting those who couldn't protect themselves, saving those who needed a savior, bringing down a clandestine corporation one person at a time. At the time, he hadn't known there was anything else out there other than a night's comfort in the arms of a willing stranger.

He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. Then he'd met Tasha, a woman so brazenly chaotic that his whole life had been thrown into a perpetual upside-down loop. She challenged everything about him and the life he chose to live; she demanded more from him than he thought he was capable of giving. She made him want the things he never thought possible for himself – a life outside the unrelenting, brutal, grueling mission; a place to call home; family; peace; love; hope. All of these things were possible for everyone else; he just never dared to believe he could have these things as well. She showed him another way to live; a way that included everything important to him.

"Just get it over with, man. Like ripping off a band-aid." He muttered the encouragement to himself, eyeing the door warily. He hated fighting with her. When they fought, the peace she helped create inside him became restless and fidgety.

With a muttered oath, he twisted the doorknob and pushed his way into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He watched as Tasha paused in going through her meager belongings and mentally berated himself for the tension he saw lining her face and shoulders. He'd give anything to erase the lines of fear and exhaustion he saw.

"I don't want to talk about it, Mike." She warned softly, shoulders sagging slightly in defeat. She knew it wouldn't do any good either way. She would be left behind. Again. And all because he was too worried she'd get hurt.

"I wasn't planning on saying much." He sighed, taking a seat on the foot of the bed, watching as she shoved clothes into a faded and torn duffel bag. He made a mental note to pick another one up for her, though he doubted she would accept it.

"Yes you were." She refuted softly. "You were going to explain to me all the reasons I can't go along on whatever rescue mission you've got percolating in that collective brain you all seem to share." She mumbled tiredly, waving a hand in the air. She lifted her head and met his gaze though the cracked mirror attached to the dresser in front of her.

"You're right." He conceded with a nod. "I was. But, only because I need to keep you safe." He offered, smiling wanly.

"Just... save it. I don't want to hear it." Tasha sighed, hands pausing in the act of folding a pair of jeans.

"Tasha…" Mike sighed, climbing to his feet. He reached for her, turning her to face him. "Someone needs to make sure the kids are taken care of, right? Besides, you'll be leaving with them tomorrow." He reminded gently and closed his eyes for a moment when she gazed up at him. A sheen of tears filmed her own eyes.

"What about you?" She countered, shrugging out of his grasp, inanely grateful he let her go so she could present him with her back again. She rarely let herself cry in front of him. She knew he hated leaving her, so she did her best to suck it up and move forward – at least until the dust settled from behind the car and she couldn't physically see him anymore. Then, and only then, did she let herself cry and worry.

"We'll leave as soon as we figure out what we're going to do." He mumbled, his eyes following her every move.

"Let me help." She pleaded, turning to face him again.

"No." His voice was so firm, she knew no amount of arguing or cajoling would get him to bend.

"Why not?" She demanded, suddenly and irrationally angry.

Mike remained silent for a moment, eyes searching her face, as if to memorize every line, every curve of her featured. Unconsciously, he took a step closer to her, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, thumb sweeping across the ridge of her cheekbone. He wasn't strong like his brother. If anything happened to the woman who held his heart, he doubted he would survive.

"Do you think I want to go through what my brother's going through right now?" He inquired softly, swallowing tightly around the lump forming in his throat. "I couldn't do it. Not without doing something so stupid I'd end up getting us both killed."

"Nothing's going to happen to me." She refuted gently, covering his hand with her own. "I _know _that city. I can help you."

"Help on the map." He shook his head firmly. "I won't put you in that kind of danger. You're not connected to us. No one knows you're a supporter. I'm trying to keep it that way for as long as I can, for your own safety. If they find out otherwise, it'll be me sitting at the table, going crazy on how to find you." He gestured toward the kitchen where he knew Frankie, Ray and Gerard were talking quietly and making plans.

"I should go with you." She muttered flatly, turning away from him once again. She felt foolish, like a child throwing a tantrum for not getting her way, but she knew this was important. She had a bad feeling about this whole thing and that never boded well for anyone involved.

"We already have help on the inside." Mike countered, exasperated and frustrated. The woman never listened to him, and yet, he couldn't imagine life without her anymore. "Stay with the kids. They need you. Or did you think they could take care of themselves?"

She whirled around to face him, eyes narrowed, face flushed with anger. "Low blow, asshole." She flipped her middle finger up at him and shoved him out of her way so she could reach the other side of the room. He stumbled back a step and watched her with a mixture of amused exasperation and genuine frustration.

"I'm sorry, love. I just can't do it. I can't bring you into this." He shook his head, heart sinking when she whirled around to face him again.

"I don't like this." She hissed, throwing the books she'd gathered onto the floor.

"No one likes this." He pointed out realistically.

"No." Tasha shook her head, forehead creasing with worry. "I mean, I have a bad feeling about this. Someone's not going to make it back." She worried her lower lip between her teeth.

How much should she tell him and how much should she keep to herself – that always seemed to be the question when it came to these mysterious feelings that cropped up from time to time. She didn't completely understand them herself, she just knew she wasn't the only one in her family who got them. Her mother had them, her grandmother had then, her great-grandmother had them – women in her family as far back as anyone could remember had these peculiar feelings. And the feelings happened to be more accurate than not. That's what made them terrifyingly foreboding.

"Don't say things like that!" Frankie yelled to them from the kitchen table. "We don't need that kind of bad juju on our hands!"

"It's not bad juju." She yelled back, glaring at the closed door before her eyes widened. "He can hear us? You can hear us?"

"You know the all-seeing eye? Yeah, I have the all-hearing ears. It makes life uncomfortable for me. A lot." Frankie called his answer, laughing.

"He's the explosives guy. He blows shit up. How is it possible that he can hear our conversation through a closed door?" Tasha demanded, turning her gaze back to Mike. He shrugged a shoulder, chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

"It's 'cause I'm a freak of nature – abnormally acute hearing even with blaring music and things going boom next to my head." Frankie's voice sounded closer this time and she turned her attention back to the door, preparing to lock it should the outsider try to join in their conversation in person.

"That explains the brain damage." She mused thoughtfully.

"I heard that." Frankie laughed loudly.

"I know. That's why I said it. And it wasn't meant as bad juju." Tasha tossed a hand into the air, groaning loudly.

"I know. Just… don't. The power of positive thinking and all." Frankie suggested, voice moving away from the door. He was pacing the kitchen impatiently.

Tasha turned toward Mike, eyeing him carefully. He'd either believe her, or he wouldn't. "My feelings are never wrong." She informed him, folding her arms across her chest to wait for his response.

"You're scared. It's understandable." Mike tried to console her, wincing when she stiffened and moved away from him. This was _not_ working out as he hoped.

"It's not fear, damn it." Tasha groused, zipping her duffel bag with a little more force than was necessary.

"You're not scared? Not even a little bit?" He teased softly, resting his hands on her shoulders to keep her from slipping away from him again.

"Of course I'm scared! What the hell kind of question is that?" Tasha countered angrily, rolling her eyes toward the heavens, asking both for strength and serenity.

"Then explain it to me." Mike prompted, pulling her around to face him.

"I come from a long line of…people who could just…I don't know…sense things." She stumbled over the words, wincing because she knew how it sounded.

"Psychics." He nodded, frowning thoughtfully as he took a seat at the foot of the bed once again.

"Do you _see_ me bending any spoons?" She demanded hotly, narrowing her eyes at him. If he was making light of this, she would hit him. "Not psychics. Psychics are frauds. This is different and it's not something I know how to explain." She sighed, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail at the back of her head. She flopped down on the mattress, lying on her back so she could stare up at the ceiling. "I get these feelings. Sometimes they're good, sometimes they're bad. Good or bad, they're almost always right."

"Okay." He nodded slowly, shifting on the bed so he could sprawl out beside her. "What is your feeling telling you?" He traced a fingertip along her forehead, down her cheek and along the line of her jaw.

"Someone's not coming back. _That's_ what scares me; not the idea of you going. It's the idea that you might be the one who doesn't make it back." Her voice dropped to a low, hoarse whisper. She blinked back the moisture gathering in her eyes. Damn her "feelings" and them causing her so much emotional duress.

"Hey." He sighed, pressing his lips against her forehead. He rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms, almost heaving a sigh of relief. He never realized just how empty his arms were until she was in them again. "I'll make it back." He assured, lips brushing against her temple.

"Don't make promises you're not sure you can keep." She rolled onto her side, pressing her face against his chest. His arms tightened around her and she sighed, relishing these few moments of quiet.

"You think anything short of death would keep me from coming back?" He inquired in hushed tones, almost afraid he'd break the fragile spell being woven around them in these few precious moments alone.

"That's what I'm afraid of." She closed her eyes tightly, heart lurching at the thought.

Since the Helium Wars, she prided herself on being dependent on no one but herself. She learned quickly how to take care of herself. How had this man, this renegade do-gooder, managed to slip past all her self-made defenses and become so important to her? She didn't know. She wasn't sure she wanted to figure out when it happened, because if she did, she'd come to realize that this was always meant to happen since the conception of her soul.

"Tash…" He sighed, heart aching for her.

"Don't." She shook her head, bringing a finger to his lips to silence him.

He pressed a kiss to her fingertip, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. "Don't what?" He inquired softly.

"Don't say goodbye. Goodbye is too…final." She sighed, closing her eyes tightly against tears once again. This time, they spilled down her cheeks, dropping onto his shirt.

"I wasn't going to say goodbye, love." He murmured, shifting so they both lay facing each other. He lifted a hand to her face, using his thumb to brush away her tears.

"Then, whatever it is, I don't want to hear it." She refuted, keeping her eyes closed. She couldn't face him feeling this weak inside. It went against everything she believed about herself.

"Don't listen, then, because I'm going to say it whether you want to hear it or not." He warned gently, smiling when her eyes squeezed shut even tighter. He shifted, lowering his head, fire twisting in his stomach when he heard the telltale catch in her breath. "Because I love you, I'll come back." He murmured, lips brushing against her ear.

Shivers raced down her spine and jumped into her stomach, giving her a trembling, scary feeling. It was one she never experienced before. "What?" She demanded once the words sank in, eyes snapping open. Her eyes met his amused gaze.

"Listen to me very carefully, Tasha." Mike voice dropped to a gravelly whisper that sent another round of shivers through her body. "I…love…you."

"You never said that to me before." Her tone was filled with wonder as she lifted her hand to his face.

He smiled, closing his eyes, nuzzling his cheek against the palm of her hand. "It was time." He held her hand in place, turning his head so he could press a kiss against her palm.

"Or you think something's going to happen to you." She mumbled, flushing when he sighed in exasperation.

"Don't do that." He chastised her gently. "I'm saying it because I've wanted to say it for a long time. And now, I'm ready." He countered, turning serious.

"I love you, too." She whispered, giving him a tremulous smile. It was all she could do to help erase the worry lingering in the depths of his eyes.

"I know." He nodded, tugging her closer so he could wrap his arms around her again. She willingly relaxed against him, closing her eyes, enjoying the comfort he gave her as his hand traveled in firm circuits around her back and shoulders.

"Promise me you'll come back." She pleaded drowsily.

"I promise." He assured again, dipping his head to drop a kiss to her lips.

"I wish I could believe that." She mumbled against his lips.

"Take it on a little bit of faith, then." He urged, hand splaying against her cheek to keep her from pulling away from him again.

"It's hard to have faith when I'm this nervous." She countered, arm draping around his shoulders when she suddenly found herself on her back. He loomed above her and gave her a sad smile, sliding a fingertip down the slope of her nose.

"I have enough for the both of us." He whispered, head dipping to deliver another kiss to her lips.

"Stay with me." She requested breathlessly between extended kisses, her arms wrapping around him tightly.

"Yes." He agreed without hesitation, pulling away enough to meet her gaze.

Gerard rubbed bleary eyes as he dropped down onto the worn couch, wincing when a spring bit him painfully. He sucked in a quick breath and shifted so the spring was no longer an issue and glanced around the living room. It was just as sparse as the rest of the house, but that didn't take away from the homey feel of the place. Every wall, every corner, every detail reminded him of Beth. He shook his head and sighed. He opened his eyes and glanced over at the other end of the couch when it lurched with movement.

Pax, the dog Beth refused to leave behind so many years ago, whined softly and pawed at him. Gerard lifted a hand and scratched behind the dog's ears, feeling the canine's pain. Pax whined again, leaning heavily against his side, head resting in Gerard's lap.

"I know, mutt." He mumbled, stroking the dog's head absentmindedly as he dialed the cell phone he held in his free hand. Oracle finally answered on the fourth ring.

"What?" She demanded without preamble, sounding more than a little distracted.

"Hey Mole." Gerard greeted tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. He really needed some aspirin to take care of the headache he felt coming on.

"Evening, Poison. Why can't you and your brethren call me Oracle like Wendy does? I _so_ need a better nickname than Mole. It makes me feel disgusting." Oracle snapped impatiently, in no mood for games.

"Fine. Oracle, then." He conceded, lips curving in a sad smile.

"Thank you." Oracle sighed. "What's up?"

"What's been on the waves the last week or two?" He inquired, resting his head back against the cushions.

"Not much, same old, same old." Oracle grumbled briefly, cursing loudly at one of her computers before turning her attention back to the phone. "There have been a few hard cases taken in, but nothing they've been discussing on their communications network. They lost a few employees in a firefight out in the des-that was you, wasn't it?" She exclaimed suspiciously.

"I can't confirm or deny that." Gerard almost laughed.

"You did. You rat _bastard_. You could have warned me. Here I was, thinking there was a new player in town and all the time it was _you_. Next time, warn me so I'm not scrambling – especially if you want me to keep sharing what information I glean from the communications network." Oracle warned ominously.

"Maybe we should start calling you Mother Hen or Watchtower." Gerard mused, closing his eyes again.

"Call me Mother Hen once to my face, see what happens. I freaking _dare_ you." Oracle's tone turned icy.

"Feel better now?" He inquired out of idly curiosity, draping an arm over his eyes to block out most of the light coming from the flickering oil lamps set up on tables and mantles.

"Tell me again why I agreed to help your sorry asses?" Oracle demanded her rebuttal, sounding both amused and resigned to her fate.

"Because you want the nefarious people out of the world as much as we do. You're the brains, we're the muscle. As much as you pretend to be the silent woman behind the curtain, you love to raise a little hell when given the opportunity. Do you want me to continue?" He laughed softly.

"No. That's good. I just needed reminding." She mumbled. "So, I know this isn't a personal call, especially if you're asking if I've heard any chatter lately." She prompted, sounding more curious by the second.

"Yeah, not a personal call." He agreed and sighed. "BL/ind took Wendy." He waited for the exclaimed curse and the tantrum the all-seeing eye would throw. Oracle tended to get angry when one of "her" operatives went missing.

"You heard about that." She mused slowly.

Gerard's eyes narrowed as he pulled himself into a sitting position. "You knew?" He demanded, surprised.

"That's the big project I've been working on the last eight days." Oracle sounded slightly contrite. She should have told them, but decided to sit on the information for a little while.

"And you didn't tell us?" He continued sharply, gritting his teeth. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and glanced up toward the kitchen doorway. Frankie arched an eyebrow at him. Gerard shook his head silently in answer.

"I figured I'd wait until I nailed down her location and put a solid plan together before letting you know." Oracle snorted rudely. "If you go off all half-cocked, you'll get a lot of people hurt – including her." She reminded brusquely.

"You still should have told me." He countered, hating that he sounded like petulant child who wanted a toy but couldn't have it.

"And what would you have done, Poison?" She demanded pointedly. "Other than storm every BL/ind facility you could find?"

"Shit." Gerard sighed, covering his face with a hand.

"I'm right there with you." She heartily agreed. "We'll get her back, Poison." She continued after a moment of silence.

Oddly, a small measure of relief coursed through him knowing someone else was just as confident as he would that she could and would be found, that she would be saved and that it would be accomplished without anyone getting hurt or dying. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to let the tension in his entire body relax just a little bit.

"Okay." He mumbled, gathering his scattered thoughts together by sheer force of will. "Okay." His voice firmed with resolve. "What do you think, and what do you know?"

"Well, it's hard to say, really." Oracle sighed. He could hear the tapping of keys in the background, signaling her use of one of the many computers she worked with on a daily basis. "There's been nothing about a woman being taken into custody. Usually they're pretty fired up when something like this happens. This is a big coup for them, especially knowing whom she's tied to. There were a few men who have been causing problems for BL/ind in one of the border towns in Zone Six." Oracle quickly read from her computer screen, pausing briefly between bits of information.

"She's not in Zone Six." Gerard refuted almost immediately. "We have people there. They would have reported a BL/ind van or truck heading into the Zone. No, she's in Battery City."

"Okay, if we're going to do this, we need to switch communication modes." Oracle sighed in exasperation.

"Right. You just want to get me on camera." Gerard rolled his eyes, opening the desk on the opposite side of the room. The computer was already booted up, but in sleep mode. He moved the mouse to wake the CPU up and waited patiently for Oracle to remotely access the computer.

"You wish, lover boy. I have my eye on someone who actually has hair a little more wild than yours." Oracle snorted.

"Imagine that." Gerard mused, watching the mouse move on its own across the computer screen. Various programs started and a small box popped up showing the woman he was talking to on the phone. The computer speakers crackled to life as he hung up the cell phone.

"Ah, that's much better. Wow. You look like death." Oracle settled in front of her computer, gazing at him through a web-cam.

"You look marvelous as well, Oracle." Gerard snorted, rolling his eyes heavenward as he took a seat at the computer.

"Like I said, I haven't heard any chatter recently. And you're sure they'd bring her here? They might have taken to her some other compound in a different city – or state." Oracle frowned darkly, shaking her head.

"Where else would they realistically take her? It would have to be somewhere close and somewhere they have absolute control. They couldn't just storm into a no-name town and take over without a lot of eyebrows being raised. Besides, they're calling us out. They know we're close to Battery City. They'll want to make this as easy for us as possible without actually giving us what we want." Gerard explained quickly, the thoughts racing too fast within his head for his mouth to translate.

"Which would be Beth." Oracle mused thoughtfully.

"Which would be Beth." Gerard affirmed, hoisting himself to his feet to pace the length of the living room. He always thought better when he was on his feet. This was no different than any other time.

"Point. Okay, so, if she's being held in Battery City, there are only a handful of places that have the type of security needed for an operation like that – especially if they're planning on you boys making a rescue attempt." She mumbled, through the noise of rustling papers as she gathered more information. "You _really_ need to let Jet go for a few days. I need help organizing the Bat-Cave."

"I'll take it under advisement." He smiled, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his jeans. "They'll be expecting us. It'd be suicide to think they wouldn't be."

"Right. Give me a second while I sort through this paperwork." She muttered. He heard more rustling papers, a few mumbled curses and a triumphant sound of discovery before she turned back to the computer and began speaking again. "There are four major compounds in the city: one in the East, one in the West, one directly in the center of Battery City, and the company's international headquarters."

"Fantastic. Tell me about them." Gerard groaned loudly, frustration and wariness returning. They shouldn't have stayed away so long this time. If they'd shown up sooner, this wouldn't have happened. Or, if they stayed away completely, this wouldn't have happened. It was a double-edged sword shoved into his heart. No matter which way he tried to pull it out, he always ended up mortally wounded and bleeding.

"The East Compound is where they develop new foods and hybridizations of the basic staples of crops. They also work on consumer products and it's where they dabble in all the advertisements the company throws on every television, newspaper and magazine." Oracle began listing off the functions as Gerard reached for a pad of paper and a pen hiding in one of the desk drawers. He began taking notes as quickly as she spoke.

"Advertisements. That's where they program the subliminal messages?" Gerard frowned darkly.

"That would be the place." Oracle agreed, sighing.

"Yeah, that's going on the list of targets when this is all over." He mused, making a note at the top of the page to do so.

"Amen to that. The West Compound is where they develop medical and psychological treatments for the tough cases that won't follow the new world order. They also develop the national curriculum for the schools that survived the natural disasters and the Helium Wars. That also includes the schools they've built since then." Oracle explained as she pointed to it on the map she'd pulled up onto the computer screen, trying to remember all the details. If she forgot something, plans could go horribly awry.

Gerard held up a finger, silently asking for a moment before he strolled into the kitchen and over to his duffle bag. He reached into the side pocket and pulled out a map. He returned to the living room and pushed everything off the coffee table before moving it closer to the computer so he could spread out a physical copy of the map and make the proper notations with the information they would need. He circled the BL/ind facilities Oracle had already given him and wrote down the information on little pieces of sticky paper.

"The one in the center of the city is where they train their security personnel, police force, investigators and exterminators." Oracle continued distractedly.

"That's three. What about headquarters?" Gerard continued to make notes, glancing up at the computer screen distractedly for a moment. His eyes dropped back down to scan the map with critical eyes.

"They have a secret bunker type area beneath the building that houses their national and international offices. It's where they keep the mainframe for the television, radio, surveillance, and communications networks. It's also where they…" She trailed off and groaned loudly, closing her eyes, completely horrified.

"It's where they _what_?" Gerard demanded immediately, voice a little sharper than he'd intended. He lifted his head when Oracle didn't immediately respond, eyes narrowing. "Oracle?"

She glanced up from the papers she held, eyes telegraphing the immediate unease she felt. He shook his head slowly and arched an eyebrow expectantly at her.

"It's where they take people – to torture them, to perform medical experiments and all sorts of other ethically wrong things. The place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox used to be and no one outside the company has ever made it through the doors without being highly medicated or in chains. Crap." Oracle let loose a few other choice words under her breath. "This is going to be really tricky."

"Crap isn't a strong enough word for that." Gerard began pacing again, making his circuit through both the living room and kitchen while Frankie alternated between studying the internal workings of a detonation device and watching him pace.

"Will shit do?" Oracle snorted and sighed heavily.

"Shit will work just fine. It might even call for a fuck or two." Gerard agreed, echoing her disbelief and frustration. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck with a hand as he paused in front of the computer. "If she's going to be anywhere, she'd probably be in the one in the center of Battery City. There are enough people to cover whatever they have hidden there."

"What's going on in here?" Ray inquired, amused as he strolled into the room. "I just checked the perimeter. Nothing seems to be moving out there except a few teenagers out for some late-night hell-raising." He informed Gerard, tossing a wink at the woman on the computer screen. Oracle flushed and rolled her eyes.

"Thanks, man." Gerard forced a smile.

"You call Oracle and you don't even tell me. I'm crushed, dude." Ray dropped down onto the desk chair and glanced down at the notes scrawled on the notebook in front of him.

"Yeah, well, she may be _your_ girlfriend, but she's _my_ informant." Gerard pointed out, arching an eyebrow at his friend.

"_Our _informant." Ray reminded absentmindedly, eyes scanning the notebook. He whistled lowly, shaking his head. "This isn't good."

"Boys, boys, there's plenty of me to go around." Oracle threw in a cheeky reprimand.

"It's really not." Gerard agreed with a sigh, ignoring Oracle's flippant assurance. "She's probably at the one at the center of Battery City." He reiterated, returning his attention back to Oracle.

"That's the problem. She could be there, or she could be in the West Compound. Hell, she could even be in the bunker. It entirely depends on the real reason they grabbed her." Oracle tapped at her computer again.

"Explain." Gerard requested, closing his eyes briefly.

"Well, if they grabbed her just to get to the Killjoys, then the Center Compounds makes the most sense and would be the easy mark. If they grabbed her to make an example out of her, getting to the Killjoys being a side benefit, then they'd take her to the West Compound." Oracle rationed out, using her knowledge and her computer skills to figure out the best way to find their friend.

"Brainwashing." The word settled like napalm in his stomach. He felt like throwing up. The thought of losing her psychologically and emotionally had never crossed his mind, and now that it had, he knew he couldn't bear to see the shell of the woman he cared so much about walking around as a BL/ind drone. His heart rebelled against the idea.

"You don't think they'd actually do that, do you?" Ray glanced up from the map, both eyebrows lifted.

"Would you put _anything_ past that corporation?" Gerard turned to gaze at his friend, arching an eyebrow.

"But, brainwashing? They'll never get any useful information out of her if they do that. It doesn't make sense from a tactical perspective." Ray shook his head, rubbing his chin with the tips of his fingers as he thought.

"Maybe not, but it'll take her out of the game and possibly put her into a new one. This isn't meant to do anything other than get at us. What better way to do that than take those who are closest to us, the people who give us a place to go to ground?" Gerard gestured helplessly with a hand.

"Glad you guys followed me on that one." Oracle interrupted them and heaved a sigh of relief at not having to explain. "But that's not even the half of it. If they _really_ wanted to pull something off, they'd take her to the bunker and really do some heavy-duty brainwashing techniques they're experimenting on. That's where they convert people and set them back into their old lives. If BL/ind is smart, that's what they'd do. And if that's what they're doing, she'll show up on your doorstep within the next day or two."

"If they succeeded." Gerard sank down onto the couch, hand resting on Pax's head.

"If they succeeded." Oracle agreed softly.

"In turning her into a spy." His heart nearly stopped. His lungs seized painfully. This would _not_ happen. He wouldn't allow it.

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better, now, doesn't it?" Ray groaned, covering his face with a hand. "Maybe we should rethink this whole thing."

"What would you do if it were Oracle?" Gerard demanded, eyes narrowing.

"Kill every BL/ind operative standing between me and her." Ray mumbled, flushing under the scrutiny.

"Aw, that's sweet." Oracle smiled suddenly, brilliantly before falling serious again. "She's strong, Poison – more stubborn than all of us put together. They won't succeed." Oracle refuted suddenly.

"Damn it." Gerard cursed loudly, shooting to his feet to pace the room again.

"We're getting way ahead of ourselves, here. We haven't nailed down her location yet and that's the most important part of the equation." Oracle reminded gently, trying to comfort him the best she could through the computer connection.

"How do we find out for sure?" Gerard's voice dropped to a weary murmur as he rubbed his temples, eyes tightly closed. This was a nightmare.

"Unfortunately, there's no real way. My contact on the inside has gone uncharacteristically silent." Oracle grumbled.

"That's never a good sign." Gerard pulled a second chair to the desk and took a seat so he could gaze sightlessly at the map spread out before him.

"Are they on to you?" Ray demanded, shoulders tensing.

"Not that I can tell." Oracle shook her head, a slow smile curving her lips upward. "I haven't been taking many chances. I've been kind of forced to keep my head down. But, this is Wendy, and we'll do what we have to, right?"

"Right." Ray muttered, lips twisting into a frown. He wasn't particularly wild about the idea of putting his girlfriend right in the thick of things. There were too many people looking to find her as it was without adding this little drama to the growing list.

"I appreciate it." Gerard forced a smile, nodding at his friend through the camera lens.

"Let me put my feelers out, see what I can see, and I'll get back to you." Oracle offered, reaching for the keyboard of her computer.

"How long?" Gerard hated asking the question, but they were on a timeframe and it was important information.

"I don't know." Oracle sighed, shaking her head. "A couple of hours, maybe? Definitely by morning."

"And in the meantime, we'll start making plans to hit each building until we find out for sure where she is." Gerard mused, nodding slowly as he climbed to his feet.

"That's your best bet. Now get out of here. I need to talk to Jet and I don't want you listening in." Oracle lifted a hand toward the camera and shooed him away.

Gerard rolled his eyes with a shake of his head and reached for the map and notebook before wandering out into the kitchen. Frankie glanced up at him, watching as he spread the map out once again, tossed the notebook on top of it and dropped down onto the chair beside him.

"What did Oracle have to say?" Frankie finally inquired after a few minutes of silence.

"We're going to need coffee. A lot of it." Gerard sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Nothing good. She already knew about Beth. It's the project she's been working on the last week."

"And she didn't tell us?" Frankie arched an eyebrow, measuring out coffee grounds into the filter inside the coffeemaker.

"She didn't want us to go in blind." Gerard shrugged a shoulder.

"Remind me to slap her the next time I see her." Frankie grumbled, eyes narrowing. He filled the coffeemaker with water and pressed the brew button.

"Where's Mike?" Gerard inquired suddenly.

"Trying to talk Tasha out of joining our little four man crew for this escapade." Frankie shrugged a shoulder, returning to his chair. "Ray?"

"Grabbing a few minutes alone with Oracle." Gerard mumbled through an unexpected yawn.

"Right, so, fill me in." Frankie urged, gesturing toward the map.

"Oracle hasn't heard any chatter on the networks involving a woman being taken into custody, which could mean a lot of things." Gerard shrugged a shoulder.

"And I'm betting none of them are good." Frankie mused, leaning over the map to read the sticky notes.

"No, none of them good." Gerard shook his head. "There are three, possibly four locations they might be holding her." He pointed to each one on the map with his index finger.

"Well, _that's_ going to be a bitch. We're planning for all possible locations?" Frankie arched an eyebrow, reaching for the notebook to begin making notes of his own. They would need weapons, lots of weapons, and a better mode of transportation than the beat-up Trans Am they traveled around in. It was too easy for all of them to get caught in one car. It was a better idea if they could split up and met back at a safe house later.

"Yeah, at least until we get some definitive answers on where she is. It's the safest way to do it." Gerard nodded, glancing up when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

Pinky, face covered in pillow creases and face flushed with sleep, stood in the kitchen doorway, hugging a teddy bear that had seen more surgeries than anyone else in the world. She blinked big brown eyes at him, thrusting her index finger into her mouth. He held an arm out to her. She didn't let the invitation go to waste. She ran full-tilt, as fast as her little legs could carry her, and tumbled headlong into his arms. Smiling sadly, he lifted her onto his lap and waited patiently for her to snuggle against his chest. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair soothingly, allowing himself this one distraction.

He'd spent the last two years with Pinky exactly like he'd spent the last few years with Beth – trying to keep them both at arm's length. He couldn't make the tough decisions if he knew people were waiting on him at home. It wasn't easy with a full-grown woman, let alone a toddler. And as surely as Beth slipped past all his defenses and walls he'd created around himself, so had this little girl who trusted and loved him so completely.

A spear of naked pain stabbed into his heart, his mind conjuring images long forced into the back of his mind of a little boy trusting and loving him so completely. An image of a little boy he'd failed in the worst possible way. He took a deep breath, trying to breathe through the burning in his chest. It was in the past. He would eventually have to let it go. For now, he continued to hold on to the memories because it was harder to let go than it was to hang onto them.

"Mama Wendy?" Pinky inquired through a yawn.

"She'll be back. Don't worry, little bit." Gerard assured softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Go back to sleep." He urged gently.

"Stay." Pinky pleaded, tiny fingers fisting around his shirt.

"Okay, you can stay. But you have to go back to sleep." He compromised, rocking back and forth in his chair. He glanced up and met Frankie's amused gaze.

"Don't say it." Gerard muttered, eyes narrowing at his friend.

"Wasn't going to say a word." Frankie laughed, holding up a hand. "Anyway, you have more information than I do, so spill."

"According to Oracle, this facility houses the laboratories for medical advancement and the teaching warehouse where they come up with the curriculum for schools nationally." Gerard shifted closer to the table to a location on the map. "This one is their training facility for security personnel and exterminators." He pointed again. "This one is where they perform experiments." He pointed to a third location. "And this one is the International Headquarters. That's where the really nasty shit goes down." He pointed to the final location.

"Shit." Frankie cursed under his breath. "So, in this scenario, we're hoping for one of these two facilities then." Frankie gestured toward the East and West Compounds.

"That's what we're hoping, but knowing our luck, it'll be one of the other two. We should plan for everything." Gerard nodded slowly.

"Oracle can't narrow it down for us?" Frankie lifted his eyebrows, adding items to the list he began.

"She's putting her feelers out to see if she can find anything, but I'm kind of worried about her. Her contacts are drying up pretty fast. That could mean some seriously bad things for Oracle. Either way, she'll get back to us by morning at the latest." Gerard settled back in his chair, risking a peek at the little girl in his arms. She had fallen right back to sleep. He smiled. He learned a long time ago, when Pinky woke up in the middle of the night, all she needed were some cuddles and she slipped right back into slumber without a fight at all.

"This is going to be trickier than our normal tricky." Frankie warned, both excited and intrigued. Nothing could get the juices going like an old fashioned breaking and entering – with explosives, of course.

"It's going to be more than a little trickier. Two of the four buildings are heavily guarded. All four are carefully watched. We'd also have to get through the Zone checkpoints without being detected, or somehow forge documents that will get us through without any raised eyebrows – a task that's pretty much unattainable since our faces are plaster on wanted posters all over the Zones. We have supporters, but not enough to cover something like this." Gerard shook his head, transferring Pinky's weight from one side to the other.

"We're going to need things that go boom." Frankie grinned, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"We'll need lots of things that go boom. We're also going to need some transportation options in case we need to split up." Gerard agreed with a quick nod.

Gerard climbed to his feet, careful not to jostle Pinky and stepped quietly down the hallway toward the bedroom she shared with Tunes. Leaving the door cracked open for light, he carefully settled the little girl down in her makeshift bed, covering her with frayed pink blankets. He paused for a moment, smiling down at the sleeping girl, giving himself this brief moment of peace before he had to dive headlong back into the chaos of the missing woman in his life.

"We might want to split up even if we don't have to." Frankie suggested when Gerard strode back into the kitchen. "They won't be able to chase us all down, especially if they're distracted by lots of explosions and a whole lot of firepower." Frankie continued as Gerard refilled both their coffee mugs.

"Getting in will be easy. They'll probably just let us walk right in through the front door. Getting out, that'll be harder." Gerard took a seat at the kitchen table again.

"We're definitely going to want to split up then." Frankie nodded, frowning thoughtfully.

"That idea doesn't sit well." Gerard groaned, covering his face with a hand.

"It doesn't with me, either, but when you look at it, it's the safest way to do it. And it's pretty much the only way we'll be able to get her out of the city unharmed." Frankie settled back in his chair, shrugging a shoulder. "I have a contact that can get his hands on a few of those modified racing bikes BL/ind has outlawed on the Guano. It wouldn't be too much of a hassle to get them, just designate a meet point and there we go."

"How many?" Gerard inquired, his interest piqued.

"Three, maybe four. I'd have to call him to make sure." Frankie smiled. He could practically see a plan slowly coming together in his friend's mind.

"Make the call." Gerard nodded, tossing his cell phone onto the kitchen table. It was an untraceable line they designated as a communal phone for instances such as these.

Frankie grabbed the phone and dialed quickly, holding it to his ear as he waited for someone to pick up on the other line.

"Its three in the dawn hours. Someone better be dead or dying to warrant a bloody fucking wake up call." Cola muttered gravelly into the phone.

"Cola, how's it going?" Frankie smirked, propping his feet up on the table as he tilted his chair back on the rear legs.

"How's it going? I was bloody well _sleeping_, you wanker." Cola admonished loudly.

"Sorry about that. I needed some information that couldn't wait until morning." Frankie winced sympathetically when Cola let loose a string of curses that embarrassed even him – which was harder to do than most people thought.

"What do you want?" Cola finally demanded after a lot of groaning and sighing.

"The Killjoys have need of those bikes you've got squirreled away." Frankie explained, folding his arms across his chest, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder.

"Right on, right on. I'm always willing to share. Have something fun planned, do you?" Cola inquired, chuckling deeply as he lit a cigarette.

"You could say that." Frankie hedged, glancing over at Gerard. Gerard shrugged a shoulder and nodded once. "Check with your buddy and see what he can get me for a remote detonator – something I can fuck with so it'll work with just about anything I make." He continued, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

"Not just a big mission. You planning on starting a war, mate?" Cola demanded, whistling through his teeth.

"Someone important to us was taken. We're getting her back." Frankie shrugged a shoulder, writing down a few quick notes in the notebook in front of him. Beside the notes, he drew up a simple schematic for the type of bombs he wanted to use.

"Right on. More power to you, man. When do you need the bikes and detonator?" Cola demanded gruffly.

"A day, maybe two. We're not going to sit on this for long. They've already had her over a week. There's no telling what might happen." Frankie shrugged a shoulder, frowning at the drawing. He erased a few lines and made some modifications.

"That's the second time you've said her. Which her are we talking about?" Cola inquired suspiciously.

Frankie glanced over at Gerard. He was busy studying the map. "Wendy." Frankie sighed.

"Ouch. The kids okay?" Cola's next question made Frankie smile. For a mean old bastard, Cola had a soft streak a mile wide when it came to kids. He also had a soft spot for Wendy, especially after she saved his life during a standoff with BL/ind a handful of years earlier.

"The kids are fine." Frankie assured quickly. "They're kids, though, so they're scared."

"Understandably. What about Party?" Cola inquired through a yawn.

"He's anxious to get this show on the road." Frankie admitted honestly.

"Right on. Just let me know the drop point so I know where to leave shit. Now, get off my phone. I have a few calls to make." Cola advised, amused.

"Thanks, man. I appreciate it." Frankie grinned and closed the phone. He tossed it onto the table and folded his arms across his chest. He closed his eyes, resting his chin on his chest, wondering if they would get any shut-eye soon.

"You need to do something for me." Gerard's voice brought his eyes open.

"What's that?" Frankie arched an eyebrow, lifting his head.

"She's your responsibility. Yours alone. No matter what's going on around us, you have to make sure she gets out of the city." Gerard met Frankie's eyes with a serious, level gaze.

"She's not going to like leaving you behind if we can manage to get her out." Frankie advised, shaking his head slowly.

"She won't have a choice." Gerard muttered grimly.

"Sure. Make _me_ deal with Wendy all irritated and angry, because that's _so_ much fun." Frankie grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Why me, anyway?"

"Mike will be too busy worrying about me. You know him in a fight. And Ray, as much as he cares about her, he won't force her to do anything if she puts up a fight. You will. She'll listen to you." Gerard shrugged a shoulder, glancing up when Ray strolled into the kitchen, looking every bit as exhausted as the rest of them.

"What aren't you telling me?" Frankie demanded, eyes narrowed, suddenly suspicious at his friend's motives.

"She just might not be herself." Gerard hedged, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly.

"Gerard." Frankie warned sharply.

"They could have done a multitude of things to her already, Frankie. Think about it for a second." Gerard muttered exasperated.

"What things?" Frankie demanded.

"Torture of any kind. They could have pumped her so full of drugs she doesn't know where she is, or who she is." Gerard swallowed tightly, tamping down the surge of fear. He had to keep a level head if they were going to do this.

"Also, there's that whole pesky brainwashing possibility." Ray muttered, dropping down onto a free chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"Brainwashing." Frankie let loose a string of curses under his breath, sighing heavily. "You're telling me she could already be one of them?"

"She could." Gerard nodded, rebelling against the idea.

"And you still want to go get her." Frankie mused thoughtfully.

"Wouldn't you, if you were in my place?" Gerard arched an eyebrow.

"Hell, you know I'm game. I'm _always_ game for a little destruction." Frankie held up a hand, giving them a mischievous smile.

Ray shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing from Frankie to Gerard and back again. He sighed and shook his head, stretching until the muscles in his back threatened to pop. He sighed again and climbed to his feet.

"I'm going to sleep for a couple of hours. Wake me if anything changes." Ray mumbled and shuffled back toward the living room to catch a few Z's on the couch.

"Thanks, Frankie." Gerard heaved a sigh of relief. It was one less thing he had to worry about.

"Just do me a favor – if we manage to make it out of this alive." Frankie turned serious all at once.

Gerard groaned mentally, knowing somehow where this conversation was headed. "What's that?"

"Stop pussyfooting around her." Frankie almost commanded.

"What?" Gerard made a face, reaching for his coffee cup. He took a sip and sighed. It was lukewarm at best.

"Do right by her." Frankie waved a hand in the air.

"What's that?" Gerard feigned stupidity. It was easier than having to delve into the past and try to explain the deeper emotions that kept him from pursuing the woman in his life. He kept those reasons to himself. Only one other person alive knew what he went through after the war, and Mike wasn't going to talk about it to anyone.

"She loves you. We all know you love her." Frankie's eyes narrowed at his friend, resisting the urge to throw the notebook across the table at him.

"Of course I do. But it's not a good idea." Gerard shook his head, lips curving downward.

"After all this; after taking in all the strays; after patching us up for years; after being taken – don't you think she deserves a little good? Don't you think _you_ deserve it after everything _you've_ gone through, after everything _you've_ done? You've paid your dues, man. You're allowed to be happy." Frankie reminded gently. They'd had this conversation many times before. It hadn't sunken in then. He didn't hold out much hope it would sink in now.

"She deserves better than anything I could offer her." Gerard countered with a shake of his head.

"You're an idiot." Frankie muttered in disgust.

"Because I want to protect her?" Gerard retorted defensively.

"Because _this_ is what trying to protect her has accomplished." Frankie gestured to the silent house around them.

"Low blow." Gerard grumbled, eyes narrowing angrily.

"If you truly wanted her safe, you would have stayed away completely. You wouldn't have convinced the rest of us to drop off the stray kids here. You would have turned your back on her the second you met her and walked away without looking back. But you didn't. Or, maybe you couldn't. Because, even then, you loved her just a little." Frankie pointed out realistically.

"You're overstepping some boundaries, here. There are things you don't know about." Gerard warned, frowning.

"What don't I know?" Frankie countered immediately. "Dude, we've known each other a long time. There are things we know about each other that no one else in the world knows. Things that were lost in the war, things that were better left forgotten." Frankie sighed, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly.

"You don't know about this." Gerard mumbled with a shake of his head.

"We _know_ Gerard. You think we don't, but we've seen the picture when you think we're not looking. It's not hard to guess what happened." Frankie shrugged a shoulder, settling back in his chair.

"What?" Gerard glanced up, pained surprise flashing across his features.

"The future is for the living, man. It's been seven years. You can't keep holding on to the past like this. So, with that in mind, what's stopping you?" Frankie inquired, honestly curious. Everyone else seemed to have gotten over their initial reservations about starting relationships – except him. He was the only one holding out. Under the circumstances, Frankie couldn't blame him, but enough already. Gerard had tortured himself over his loss long enough.

"What happened back then stops me. What happened here stops me." Gerard muttered, raking a hand through his hair as he shifted uncomfortably.

This wasn't something he wanted to talk about and it was calling far more attention to his emotions than he was comfortable in sharing. He couldn't let things progress with Beth because he never knew if he would be able to come back. He knew better than anyone else, people died all the time. He couldn't put her through that. He couldn't bring himself to cause her more pain. And he couldn't bring himself to face the possibility of losing so much all over again.

"Take a look around. This may not be the worst, but it's pretty damn bad." Frankie gestured toward the house again, punctuating his words with a sigh. "So I ask again, what's stopping you?"

"I didn't want this for her. I didn't want this _life_ for her – to always clean up after us, to worry about us, to take care of us when we come back broken and bloody. She shouldn't have to live her life like this." Gerard raked his fingers through his hair again, head bowing forward, unable to find the right words to adequately explain his thought process.

"None of us wanted this for her, but we all took what we got and made the best of it. She took what she had and made a pretty damn good life for herself and those kids – easily making room for the rest of us. She didn't complain. She didn't turn her back on us. We would show up, unexpectedly and usually with trouble hot on our heels, and she would open her home to us, knowing we wouldn't stay long. She _chose_ this life. And she did it – _all of it_ – for you." Frankie tossed the pen he held onto the tabletop.

He hated making speeches. He wasn't good at them and they always tended to make life awkward for a while, but some of these things couldn't be left unsaid. Not when life had a way of throwing curveballs. The rules were constantly changing and they had to adapt or die trying.

"I know." Gerard sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.

"A third time now. What's holding you back? Because if you're not going to do right by her, after this is done and over and she's safe in the next house, you're going to turn around and walk away. You're not coming back." Frankie's voice was so firm Gerard glanced up from the spot on the map he was studiously staring at to keep from meeting his friend's eyes.

"You can't ask me to do that." Gerard mumbled, shaking his head.

"I'm not asking, dude. I'm telling." Frankie refuted seriously. "I don't raise much hell over _anything_ we do. Most of the time, I revel in the chaos we cause. But, not this. Never this. She deserves way more than what you're giving her. Each time you show up and leave, she gets a little sadder, a little more broken inside. I may not love her like you do, but I do give a shit. She's like a sister to me and I'm putting my foot down. Make a decision. You can't have it both ways. It'll tear her apart and she'll end up hating us all for it."

"You're making me choose between two evils." Gerard sighed.

"We all have to make those choices. Ray did with Meagan. Your brother did with Tasha. I did with J. We all tore ourselves apart trying to do the right thing. This is real life though, bro. Nothing is ever black and white. Better to have a little happiness in this godforsaken world than have nothing, right?" Frankie inquired gently.

"Why do you do it?" Gerard questioned suddenly.

"Do what?" Frankie frowned, arching an eyebrow.

"J." Gerard gestured helplessly. Out of all of them, Frankie had suffered something similar to what Gerard suffered through. He was honestly curious how his friend had let go and moved on without reservation.

"She gives me something to fight for." Frankie shrugged. His frown deepened as he pondered for a moment. "All the people that benefit from what we do, that's a perk of the job. But they're all nameless, faceless victims. They don't mean as much to me as J does. She puts a face on it all. She gives me hope that maybe things can get better; that maybe all this crap we're doing isn't for nothing." He continued slowly.

"What happens if they find out about her?" Gerard folded his arms across his chest.

"I'll kill every last mother fucker who tries to hurt her." Frankie smiled grimly.

"And you're okay with that? The possibility that she'll get hurt?" Gerard inquired, surprised.

"Fuck no." Frankie shook his head. "The thing about the women in our lives, they're pretty bad-ass. If it came right down to it, any one of them would pick up a gun and start shooting to survive. They're strong and independent and they can kick some ass." Frankie's smile turned genuine.

"I'm not as sure as you are." Gerard mused, staring into the dregs of his coffee.

"You don't think so? Beth isn't the one who keeps the twins in line? She's not the one who breaks up fights between the kids and lays down the law in this house?" Frankie snorted incredulously. "She has some serious power backing her. Those twins, they didn't respect _anyone_ when we got our hands on them. Look at them now. _She_ did that. It takes a pretty strong, patient person to accomplish something like that. And she did it by herself."

"He has a point, bro." Mike agreed tiredly as he stepped into the kitchen, fingers laced with Tasha's. Gerard lifted his gaze and met his brother's eyes. Mike, his little brother, the one person who always stood behind him no matter what decisions were made, was telling him it was time to let go of the past in the only way he could without drawing attention to the tragedy itself.

"Which point is that?" Gerard inquired warily, wondering just when his social life became a topic for debate.

"What we do, it can't consume your entire life. There has to be something outside it, or you'll go crazy. You'll burn out and become reckless. You'll end up trusting no one – not even us." Mike gestured toward the others in the room with his free hand as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. Tasha stepped into his arms and leaned back against his chest, smiling tiredly when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, anchoring her against him.

"How do I deal with what's happening now? Wouldn't it be worse if I'd done things differently and made her mine?" Gerard countered, voice feeling as raw as his emotions.

"Dude, she already _is_ yours, whether you believe it or not." Tasha finally spoke, voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

"Think about it, man." Frankie spoke up again. "You always fight smarter and harder when you have something to fight for, or something to lose." He paused thoughtfully, looking as if he wanted to say more, but shook his head instead. "We should follow Ray's lead and get some sleep while we can." He suggested, climbing to his feet. He groaned loudly when the cell phone resting on the table rang, returning to his original position in the chair.

Gerard sighed. Frankie wasn't wrong. He did have a decision to make. He could either go against everything he thought was right and stay with her, try to make a life with her, doing his best to protect her and the family they created and still attain some semblance of happiness in spite of the past misery. Or, he could go against everything he felt for her and walk away without letting himself look back, leaving behind the only family and home he'd had since the beginning of the Helium Wars, the death of his parents and the loss of his family so many years ago.

With a shake of his head, Gerard reached for the phone. "Yeah?"

"It's Oracle. Listen, I have some news. _Big_ news. I'm coming in." Oracle sounded breathless and more than a little excited.

"Where are you?" Gerard frowned.

"I have to get my shit together. I'll be there in an hour. Maybe two. Take a nap and then rally the troops. We have some serious planning to do." Oracle announced almost triumphantly and hung up the phone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Gerard, unable to sleep, slid the zipper of his duffle bag open and began rummaging inside as he took an inventory of its contents. There were items that would need replacing before they staged this almost suicidal rescue mission. The first aid kit needed to be replenished after the last mission. Having to patch up two of their band of four had depleted the small kit's resources.

His fingers paused when they encountered a small box hidden at the bottom of the duffle bag. He sighed, crouching, and pulled the box out, gazing at the velvet rubbed bare from time and handling. He didn't know why he'd kept it all this time. It just wasn't in him to toss it aside or sell it. He flicked the top of the box open with his thumb and gazed, almost sightlessly, at one of the rings nestled inside. He bypassed the plain gold band he'd removed seven years ago and concentrated on the second ring.

A fiery purple sapphire surrounded by diamond chips in a thick white gold band winked up at him, sadistically reminding him of the past and what the future could hold. The stones flashed with the light from the oil lamps spread throughout the room. It was his mother's engagement ring. She'd given it to him before she died from radiation poisoning mere months after the bombs fells, assuring him that he would know which woman the ring belonged to when he met her – even knowing he hadn't healed from the loss he'd already suffered. She maintained hope that he would find another to love. What she hadn't warned him about was the fact that he'd want to protect the right woman at all costs – including sacrificing a real future with her.

If times were different, if the natural disasters and the bombs hadn't befallen them all, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe things would have worked out in other areas of his life to where they would have married and started a family by now. Maybe they could have experienced happiness without the constant need to protect themselves from detection, or from those who would cause them harm.

His lips twisted bitterly. If the natural disasters and the Helium Wars hadn't happened, he never would have met her in the first place. They'd lived two completely different lives – each in the same realm of creativity, but nowhere near the same venues – and he'd had a family he was desperately trying to keep from falling apart. They would have walked by each other and had never known the difference. A small, rebellious part of his heart balked at the idea. He would have known who she was if they crossed paths. He would have _felt_ it to his core, the same way he felt it now.

He wondered which was worse. To know her and to love her, yet not be able to have her; or to have never met her to begin with. Each held a certain amount of pain, but not knowing her at all – well, it would mean the pain he experienced now would fade into nothingness. His soul screamed that the pain, the uncertainty – everything – was worth it just to have her in his life.

His traitorous mind conjured her image in his mind's eye. She was beautiful, though not by normal standards. Her long hair, dyed black and bright purple, was thick and frizzy and always falling into her eyes no matter how tightly she pulled it up. Her eyes were bright green, flecked with brown and gray. A thin scar above her right eye didn't detract from the beauty of her gaze. Her lips were a little too full to be fashionable, and a scar from a childhood injury made one side of her lower lip slightly plumper than the other.

All of these things were unremarkable by society's standards – before society fell apart. But to him, she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on. Not because of the sum of her parts, but because of what she was willing to do for the people she loved. She willingly put her own safety at risk, fighting at his side. She helped care for those who couldn't care for themselves. Her heart was large enough to encompass them all, loving them each in her own way. She was an amazing woman. It was one of the things that had drawn him to her in the first place.

Unbidden, his mind conjured images of possibilities the future might bring. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes on an agonized sigh. His heart and soul screamed for one future. His head demanded another. And there were no bridges between the two. He was stuck until _something_ in him moved or changed direction.

The sound of a door opening down the hallway startled him from his ruminations. He closed the box and quickly returned it to the bottom of his duffle bag to be ignored once again. He frowned and resumed taking inventory, listening as small footsteps approached him from across the kitchen.

He glanced up, meeting Shades' tormented, sleepy eyes and remained silent for a few minutes. Shades, almost ignoring his presence though he was standing right next to Gerard, gazed sightlessly out the kitchen window, frowning slightly.

"Couldn't sleep?" Gerard inquired gently after a lengthened silence.

Shades shook his head, rubbing the top of his head with a hand. His hand transferred from his head to his eyes to rub viciously at his gritty eyelids.

"Yeah." Gerard agreed with a sigh. "Me either." He climbed to his feet in one swift movement, leaving the duffle bag behind. He reached into the top cupboard where he knew a small stash of hot chocolate was hiding for occasions such as these. He pulled down a couple of packets and dropped them onto the kitchen counter before filling a teakettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil.

"Are you worried?" Shades inquired, sitting down at the kitchen table. He gazed at the map spread out on the surface with interest, scanning the notes stuck to each part.

"Going to Battery City always worries me." Gerard nodded slowly, deciding honesty was probably the best route to go with when it came to answering the boy's questions. "But, we'll get her out the safest way possible. You don't have to worry." He assured, turning off the heat when the teakettle began whistling shrilly.

Gerard dumped a packet of hot chocolate into each of the two empty mugs sitting on the counter and almost smiled when he heard the footsteps of another child shuffling into the kitchen. They always seemed to show up in twos. He filled the mugs with hot water, tempering it with a little milk and turned to the kitchen table, a mug in each hand. He set one down on the table in front of Shades and the other in front of Tunes.

"I _told_ you they were going to get Wendy." Shades tossed a mildly accusatory glare at Tunes, cupping his hands around the warm mug. Wendy would make them hot chocolate like this when they couldn't sleep. "How'd you know?" He glanced up at Gerard.

Gerard shrugged a shoulder, allowing a genuine smile to show. "That hot chocolate is good for sleepless nights?" He arched an eyebrow, taking a seat on an empty chair. "That was a trick of hers long before you came to stay with her." He glanced over at Tunes and gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Did you think we wouldn't get her?" He inquired gently.

Tunes flushed, ducking her head, embarrassed and uncomfortable. "People disappear all the time." Her soft voice muttered matter-of-factly, shrugging a shoulder. "Most times they don't come back." She continued, voice trailing off in a mumble. She glanced up when Ray strolled into the room, rubbing a hand over his tired face. Her face lit up and she ducked her head, sipping from her mug.

"She'll be back." Gerard murmured low enough for only Tunes to hear. "You mean too much for her to stay snatched for long." He smiled, ruffling her hair affectionately.

"Hey, hot chocolate." Ray mumbled, frowning as he glanced from the first child to the next. "Did you make enough for the whole class?" He arched an eyebrow, dropping down on the chair next to Shades.

"Top cupboard. Water's still hot." Shades grinned, snickering in the way only a mischievous ten-year-old boy awake _way_ past his bedtime could.

"Isn't it past someone's bedtime?" Ray inquired of the room, eyes narrowing as he folded his arms across his chest. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. Oracle would show up within the next half an hour. He wanted to be as awake as he could be when that happened.

"If it's way past your bedtime, I won't tell anyone you're up." Shades offered, hiding a smile by taking a large sip of hot chocolate, giving himself a chocolate mustache in the process.

Gerard snorted softly, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Ray lifted both his eyebrows, meeting his friend's amused gaze with one of his own.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Last thing I need is to get busted and grounded. _That_ would be a bummer." Ray snickered, rolling his eyes heavenward with a shake of his head. Some peoples' kids, man.

"Come on, Tunes. They're going to start talking about things we shouldn't know about." Shades climbed to his feet, urging the other to do the same. He glanced over at Gerard and sighed, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out his sunglasses and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, glancing over his shoulder when Tunes shuffled from the kitchen.

"I'll give them to her." Gerard offered, holding out his hand.

Shades met Gerard's eyes, relieved he wouldn't have to ask. The little boy handed the sunglasses over and disappeared as quickly as he showed up. Gerard shook his head, smiling sadly as he tucked the sunglasses away into his jacket pocket for safekeeping.

"What was that about?" Ray inquired curiously as he climbed to his feet. He wandered over to the coffeemaker and dumped out the coffee that had been sitting there the last two or three hours on a hot burner. He went through the motions of making a fresh pot.

"It's a long story, and kind of hard to explain." Gerard mumbled, gazing out the window. A set of headlights pierced the darkness, pointing toward the house. "She's here." He glanced over at Ray for a moment before returning his eyes to the window. It would be dawn soon – sooner than any of them had expected with the hours moving so slowly. The kids would soon by up for the day, demanding answers and seeking attention.

A dilapidated truck, held together mostly with rust, coat hangers and duct tape, jerked to a screeching halt in the driveway. He watched sightlessly as three figures climbed out of the truck, one carrying a suitcase, and headed toward the front door of the house.

Gerard sighed softly, bringing a hand up to his face. He rubbed tired, gritty eyes with a thumb and forefinger, willing himself to keep it together just a little while longer. There were people depending on him to make their world right again. He didn't have the luxury of allowing his uncertainty to get the better of him. He glanced up when his shoulder was nudged non-too-gently. Ray arched an eyebrow, handing him a steaming cup of coffee. Gerard forced a grateful smile.

"Hey dudes." Frick strolled into the kitchen, grinning like the proverbial cat that ate the canary. His eyes were bloodshot and lines of fatigue lined his eyes and mouth.

"Frick?" Gerard demanded incredulously. "What the hell is going on?" He watched in dismay as Frack followed his brother into the house. Oracle trailed behind them, looking harried and about ready to slap the both of them. She heaved a long-suffering sigh and pushed her way through the twins and strode into the room.

"Frick?" Tasha exclaimed, appearing suddenly in the kitchen doorway leading toward the bedrooms. She frowned furiously. "Where the hell have you been? You and your brother disappeared more than a week ago! Do you know how _worried_ I've been? And where the hell is Skittles?" Her voice lifted in volume with each question hurled at them, anger radiating off her in waves.

"Sorry, Tash." Frack grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Dirt and grime and more than a couple of bruises covered his face and neck. There was a scabbed over cut in the middle of his lower lip and his eyes held a haunted, hunted tint that she'd seen when the Killjoys first dropped them off years earlier. "We couldn't just hang out here and wait for bad news. Not when we knew we could do something to help." He shook his head and leaned back against the kitchen counter.

Tasha's eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth to deliver another scolding when Frick frowned and turned to her.

"Skittles isn't here with you?" Frick made a face, glancing over at his twin brother. Frack shrugged a shoulder, mirroring his brother expression.

"He disappeared the same night as you." Tasha threw her hands into the air, taking a deep breath to calm her ire. Yelling at the twins wouldn't accomplish much, if anything at all. She learned first that first hand when they started living in the house. All they would do was yell back, getting more irritated and snarky with each shared retort.

"That's a little disturbing." Frack mused, shaking his head. "He's not with us."

"Shit." Tasha sighed, closing her eyes, head bowing forward for a moment. At least two of the four missing family members were present and accounted for. They seemed to be safe, if a little worse for wear – for the most part.

"That doesn't bode well, now, does it?" Frack sighed, glancing around uneasily.

"You might actually want to give them a chance to speak. They've got the information that's going to save all of our asses." Oracle bypassed everyone and made a beeline to Ray.

He set his coffee cup down and wrapped her in a tight, brief hug. It'd been weeks since they last saw each other, and it was under better circumstances. She sighed and pulled away from him, smiling when he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across the ridge of her cheekbone. A strained smile curved her lips upward.

"Information on what?" Gerard inquired impatiently. Oracle straightened and turned to face him, gesturing toward the twins with an arched eyebrow.

"On where Wendy is and what they're doing." Frack grinned with a shrug, stretching luxuriously with a groan.

"Holy hell, kid, how'd you manage that?" Frankie demanded from his position in the kitchen doorway, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. He folded his arms across his chest, arching an eyebrow expectantly at the twins.

"Frack and I have our ways." Frick shrugged a shoulder evasively, giving the room a nonchalant smirk.

"Okay, spill." Gerard commanded, holding up a hand. He gestured to the kitchen table, giving each of the twins a look that informed them this wasn't the time or place for bravado.

"She's being held at the center compound." Frack got down to the business at hand, pointing to the map where a red circle indicated a BL/ind property. "But they're moving her tomorrow night."

"Where are they moving her?" Gerard glanced up from the map to Frack, making the circle around the location darker with the red pen he'd used earlier.

"HQ." Frick sighed, looking suddenly very tired. It was so unlike the teenagers that Tasha worried briefly for them. They looked like they needed a hot shower, a good meal and a few hours of decent, uninterrupted sleep.

"You guys didn't show up after the first couple of days, so they've been working her over pretty good for information that will lead to the capture and arrest of the Killjoys and their major supporters." Frack explained briefly, smiling his thanks when Tasha handed him a steaming cup of coffee. "Our inside source says they've been giving her what they call the Royal Treatment – sleep deprivation, no food, very little water, interrogation at all hours, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. They're even planning on bringing her brother into the fold to get information from her. _But_, they haven't been able to break her yet, and that's pissing them off." Frack smiled brilliantly. He was absurdly proud of his adopted mother. He knew she was tough as nails. She had to be to keep him and his brother in line, but he didn't know she was _this_ tough.

"Inside source? Kid, you're seventeen." Frankie grumbled good-naturedly, shaking his head. The twins had certainly grown into men the last few weeks.

"We all had to start somewhere." Frick shrugged a shoulder, giving Tasha a brief salute when she delivered a cup of coffee to him.

"Besides, this is a friend from before our time with Wendy. I'd trust her with my life." Frack flushed, smiling wanly at the group surrounding them.

"Her brother?" Gerard's brow furrowed as he contemplated the new information. "I thought her brothers were dead."

"This one's not." Frick shook his head and sighed. "He never was."

"Maddox." Gerard's lips twisted into a frown. "I guess that would explain his disappearance a couple of years ago."

"He's a real treat now." Frack muttered through a yawn. "From what rumor says, it took them almost six months to break him. He just refused to cooperate." He held his hands above his head, wincing as he stretched his back. A muscle gave a healthy twinge, telling him he might have pulled something during their adventure back to Oracle's.

"What else?" Gerard prodded, reminding himself to tread lightly. The boys had gotten through BL/ind barriers and obtained information they hadn't hoped for.

"They're moving her to their headquarters to try a little brainwashing by way of the new techniques they've been developing over the last year and a half. She's weak enough right now that it just might work." Frack rubbed a hand over his face, glancing over when his brother took a seat at the table and rested his elbows on the tabletop. They both needed a few hours of sleep in order to function over the next handful of days.

"Do we have a timeframe for the transfer?" Gerard arched an eyebrow, glancing up at the twins.

"Not yet." Frack shook his head. "She'll let me know a couple of hours before it goes down. It'll take that long to get the paperwork straightened out and have a security detail put on her. It'll be tough getting in and out." He warned, setting his now empty coffee mug in the sink. If he drank much more caffeine, he'd start vibrating off the walls.

"Well, at least we know where we need to be." Frankie nodded with grim satisfaction.

Gerard nodded and switched gears for a moment. "Get a hold of Cola, tell him where to drop the bikes."

"Which would be where?" Frankie arched an eyebrow, straightening from his lounged position.

"Dr. D's. He can get his hands on a semi. The bikes will be loaded on back. Someone will have to drive the semi into Battery City. Keep two in the rig, put the other two in the back parking lot of the center compound. As much as we don't like the idea, we'll have to split up in order to make sure this works." Gerard made a mental note to get in touch with Dr. Death Defying. They would need his help if things took a decidedly sideways turn.

"Aye, aye, captain." Frankie saluted, reaching for the cell phone on the table. He tossed a careless wave to the group and disappeared into the living room so he wouldn't have to shout to be heard on the other end of the line.

"Where's Skittles?" Gerard inquired again, glancing from Frick to Frack and back again. He wasn't entirely sure they were giving him the whole story when it came to the boy.

"We don't know." Frack shook his head, worrying his lower lip between a thumb and forefinger. "We never saw him."

"Shit." Gerard sighed for the millionth time in as many minutes. His gut clenched. It wasn't like Skittles to just _disappear_. Out of all of the kids in the house, he was the least likely flight risk. But then, Beth had never been taken into BL/ind custody before. He was probably scared and thought she would never come back like so many others.

"What about the compound?" Gerard pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. He made a mental note to hit the medicine cabinet to check for aspirin. He doubted he would get any sleep tonight to relieve the headache now pounding through his skull.

"We have a friend keeping an eye on everything, just to make sure nothing goes down that we don't already know about." Frick rubbed a hand over his face, voice muffled slightly.

"Does your friend have a phone?" Gerard leaned forward, resting his hands on the kitchen table as he studied the map. He could see the lines of every street in his mind with his eyes closed, but he continued to study the map. It wouldn't change, but his prospective might and with each prospective came different ideas on how to accomplish their objective.

"Not one that can't be monitored." Frack shook his head, frowning as he rubbed the top of his head. They needed to get to Wendy soon. He needed a haircut and his stomach was demanding more food than what he and his brother had scrounged up over the last handful of days.

"Damn." Gerard mumbled, eyes dropping to the map again. "Okay." He sighed, rubbing bleary eyes. "Okay." His voice firmed. He lifted his head. "You two look like death warmed over. Get some grub and grab some shuteye."

"We're not being left out of this." Frick shook his head. He didn't care how tired he and his brother were. They'd done all the legwork and they were determined to see it through to the end.

"I didn't say anything about you being left behind." Gerard smiled grimly, glancing over at Tasha when a wordless objection escaped her. "We'll need every hand we can get." He didn't like putting any of the kids at risk, but it was the truth.

"You won't leave without us?" Frack met Gerard's gaze with a hard look.

"We won't leave without you." Gerard assured unflinchingly. "Get some grub and get some sleep. We'll wake you when its time to get ready."

Frack glanced over at his brother. Frick shrugged, unsure. Neither of them were sure Gerard would keep his word, but they could be light sleepers if they had to be. The Killjoys wouldn't leave without them. They climbed to their feet and shuffled their way toward the bedrooms. At this point, sleep was more important than food. They could eat when they got up in a couple of hours.

"You can't bring those boys with you." Tasha announced to the room, leaning back against the counter. They would all be on the blistering end of Beth's anger if they roped any of the kids into this whole fiasco. She had to nip it in the bud, before someone got hurt.

"We don't really have a choice, Tasha." Gerard sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand, meeting her furious eyes with a calm gaze of his own.

"They're _seventeen_, Gerard. They shouldn't be worried about storming BL/ind. They should be worried about girls and sneaking cigarettes and alcohol behind the garage." Tasha's eyes narrowed.

"In a perfect world, they would be." Gerard mumbled, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, this world is far from perfect."

"She's _not_ going to like this." Tasha warned darkly, pushing away from the counter.

"It's my call. I'll take the brunt of her anger." Gerard assured, lips twisting into a frown.

"If one of those boys gets hurt, she'll never forgive you." Tasha countered angrily.

"I know." Gerard mumbled with a sigh, flushing under her heated glare. His eyes dropped to the kitchen table and he swallowed tightly. If the twins hadn't already accomplished half the work, he wouldn't even consider bringing them along. But, their contact had information whereas Oracle's had remained silent. He had to go with the best option presented to him, and right now, it was the twins' informant who could keep them in the loop as to what BL/ind was planning so they knew how to proceed.

Tasha sighed, shoulders sagging. She knew he was right. "What now?" She inquired, voice dropping.

"Without a way to keep in touch with everyone that can't be tracked, it's going to get a little difficult and a whole lot trickier." Gerard mumbled, shaking his head slowly.

"That's where I come in." Oracle grinned, setting a medium-sized suitcase on top of the map and notes.

"My girl's got the hookup." Ray nodded, giving her a wink and a smile of approval.

Oracle rolled her eyes, unlocking the tabs of the suitcase. She pulled open the top and stood back, arms folded across her chest as she gazed at her most recent modifications. The years of torturous, backbreaking work to find all the right parts and another dozen and a half months to implement the modifications on electronics already assembled. She doubted they would understand just how much work went into these little pieces of technology.

Inevitably, they would come back to her, broken or smashed, and she would be expected to fix them quickly on the fly. She snorted softly to herself and shook her head, turning the suitcase around to face the rest of the room, displaying the little in-ear communications devices she essentially built from junked out military gear and one really amazing find in a city that was no longer inhabitable.

"This is something I've been working on the last couple of years. Or, rather, it's taken me that long to perfect them. You wouldn't _believe_ how many years I've been working on fixing this technology." Oracle sighed, rubbing the back of her neck with a hand.

"In-ear communicators." Gerard smiled, nodding slowly. "You're a genius." He knew Oracle had the touch when it came to anything that ran on electricity or batteries, but he didn't know she could pull this type of unit out of thin air.

"I know." Oracle smiled impishly, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly.

"How many have you made?" Ray inquired, reaching for one of the units.

Oracle's eyes narrowed as she slapped his hand away from the case. Ray made a face, shaking his hand, tossing mild glares at those who snickered softly. He heaved a dramatic sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward, muttering under his breath about genius women being control freaks.

"Enough to get us through this rescue mission." Her answer was vague. "Don't break them." She narrowed her eyes at the men about to use them. "The crap needed to make this stuff is expensive and hard to find, and your bankroll hasn't been all that great lately." She arched an eyebrow at Ray when he flushed under her narrow-eyed scrutiny.

"Yes, boss." Ray snickered softly, giving her a mock salute.

"You brought your other equipment?" Gerard inquired, glancing up from the suitcase.

"I figured I'd set up base here, and head to the new safe house when my part of this is pretty much done." Oracle nodded slowly, frowning thoughtfully. "BL/ind was getting too close to my base of operations in the city anyway. This is safer, even given the givens."

"Can't guarantee you'll have enough juice to make all your pretty baubles go beep." Frankie warned, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

"That's fine. I have generators in the back of the truck and enough gas to power them for the next seventy-two hours. If we haven't gotten her out by then, we never will." Oracle muttered, glancing over at Gerard.

"We'll get her out before then." Gerard's voice firmed.

"What do we have for resources?" Oracle went back to business after a beat of silence, rubbing her hands together. She closed the suitcase and pushed it aside.

"We have weapons, a few motorcycles, some pretty nifty in-ear communicators, and a give-'em-hell, can-do attitude. What else do we need?" Frankie snorted, arching an eyebrow.

"How about a plan of attack, or, you know, some money to help grease the wheels?" Oracle countered with her own snort. "We should also think about creating a few diversions to distract the operatives they send after you." She rolled her eyes, having a long-suffering sigh. Working with the Killjoys was both a blessing and a curse. The plans they made usually fell apart and they were all left flying by the seats of their pants. It wasn't a comfortable experience, but they always managed to get the job done. In most cases, they worked better through chaos than a well devised, well thought out plan.

"Cola tracked down the bikes for us. He'll also track down a detonator for me to play around with in case we need to use some explosives." Frankie shook his head and barely refrained from sticking his tongue out at her.

"Frick and Frack provided us with a location. All we really need to worry about on that end is figuring out the best way to get into and out of Battery City undetected." Gerard supplied, tracing possible routes with the tip of his finger.

"I'll get a hold of Doctor D, see if he can drum up some support. What kind of diversion are you looking for?" Ray offered, resting his hands on the table as he glanced from Gerard to Oracle and back again.

"It'll have to be something big – something that will draw their attention." Oracle shrugged helplessly.

"A rave." Frankie perked up.

"What?" Oracle frowned.

"A rave." Frankie reiterated, grinning. "It's the perfect cover. Killjoys are _always_ up for a party, especially if it causes trouble for BL/ind's security teams. We have Doctor D throw out on the waves that there'll be a handful of raves going on – one in each Zone. They won't know which one to hit in order to find us. We have to split up in order to get out of the city, but we can meet up at one of the six raves and go from there." He explained briefly.

"You know, that's not a half bad idea." Mike finally spoke up, folding his arms across his chest.

"Don't sound so surprised." Frankie scoffed, glowering at his friend. "I _can_ come up with some pretty good ideas from time to time." He reminded.

"They just happen so infrequently that it kind of throws us when you do." Mike grinned, snickering softly.

"Fuck you very much." Frankie flipped him the middle finger, dismissing him by presenting him with his back.

"Ray?" Gerard glanced over at the man in question.

"On it." Ray grimaced. "Six raves need to be planned in less than twenty-four hours. Doctor D's going to have his work cut out for him." He mused, reaching for the communal cell phone. He dropped a kiss to Oracle's cheek as he strode from the room to make plans with the pirate radio station owner.

"Looks like you're going to have to make due with the gear you already have." Gerard glanced over at Frankie.

"Worse things have happened." Frankie shrugged a shoulder, reaching for the car keys on the kitchen counter before disappearing outside the check the supplies in the trunk.

Gerard glanced around the kitchen, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. Mike and Tasha were talking quietly at the kitchen table, discussing possible routes in and out of the city; Ray and Oracle were in the living room, having a hushed, heated discussion; Frick and Frack were somewhere in the house, either cleaning up or catching a little sleep; and Frankie was out at the car. He wouldn't be missed for a few minutes. He hoped.

Without giving himself time to have second thoughts, he shoved his hand into his duffle bag and reached for the small box he'd examined earlier. He pulled out the simple wedding band and climbed to his feet. No one paid attention when he let himself out the backdoor and into the night surrounding the house. It would be dawn soon.

He dropped down onto the back steps and pulled out a cigarette, mind whirling with everything the group had talked about and everything Mike and Frankie had said to him about moving on and leaving the past behind him. He lit the cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled heavily, glancing up when the backdoor opened. His younger brother joined him on the stairs.

"I know what you're thinking." Mike began, taking the pack of cigarettes his brother offered. He took one for himself before handing the pack back. He rolled the unlit cigarette between his fingers, gathering his thoughts. He sighed, tilting his head to the side to gaze at Gerard. "I know it was hard losing them, but I don't think they would have wanted you to be miserable. Jess was the type of person who would have expected you to mourn and move on like a normal human being. Besides, it's not like the two of you weren't having troubles before chaos hit."

Gerard perched his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. "She was my wife, Mike. He was my son." He reminded shortly.

"It's been seven years. They know you loved them. Just because you move on doesn't mean you've stopped loving them. It just means you have enough room for both." Mike shrugged a shoulder, sighing. This wasn't coming out how he wanted. The words weren't conveying what he wanted. "Frankie's right. The future is for the living. You can't stay stuck in the past with the dead."

"I couldn't protect them, just like I can't protect her. I can't lose someone like that again." Gerard shook his head.

"You couldn't have stopped the house from going up in flames, man, even if you _had_ been there." Mike lit the cigarette he held and leaned back against the backdoor. He rolled his head to gaze at his brother.

"I should have been there. I _would_ have been there if Jess and I hadn't argued that night." Gerard refuted, shaking his head again.

"You would have died with them." Mike pointed out, trying to keep the note of resentment from his tone.

"Would that have been so bad?" Gerard inquired, gesturing helplessly.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't actually say that. If I acknowledge you actually said that, I'm going to have to get pissed and beat your sorry ass. I also won't bring up the dozens of people you helped save, because, what would be the point?" Mike muttered shortly. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger, shoving the anger to the recesses of his mind. He needed a little big of courage to do what he planned on doing. A little brother rarely ever confronted an older brother without getting his ass handed back to him when all was said and done. "You know what I think? You're a pussy." He let a portion of his anger go.

"Excuse me?" Gerard arched an eyebrow, lifting his head.

"Did I stutter?" Mike surged to his feet. "You spend all this time, making excuses. You can't start anything with her because you can't protect her; or because you're never around; or because you've lost too much and don't want to lose again. It's all bullshit, man. We've _all_ lost a shit-ton. We've _all_ had to come to terms with losing people we loved. You know the difference between you and the rest of us? We've actually got the balls to take a chance." He turned to face his brother, face flushed with anger. This was something he'd wanted to get off his chest for years. "But you won't do anything, because it's easier to stay miserable and stagnant than it is to take a chance on the future. Ergo, you are a pussy."

"I don't like your tone, kid." Gerard grumbled, narrowing his eyes as he climbed to his feet.

"Sorry, bro, but you had it coming. It needed to be said." Mike sighed, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm tired of this self-flagellation gig you've pigeonholed yourself in. Enough already. You're not a martyr."

"Is that what you really think? That I _choose_ to hold onto this? That I _choose_… whatever this is?" Gerard demanded incredulously.

"Don't you?" Mike arched an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "You've had this woman standing in front of you the last few years, asking you to love her. And you won't let yourself."

"Why is my love life the top most concern of everyone in this house?" Gerard groaned loudly, losing his eyes. "It's all we've been talking about."

"As chick-flick as it sounds, we just want you to be happy, dude." Mike offered, holding up a hand at his brother's disbelieving snort. "Just… think about it. You know Jess would kick your ass for letting it go on this long."

"Yeah. She would have." Gerard smiled sadly, shaking his head.

"She would have loved Beth, too, you know." Mike mumbled, glancing toward the nearby kitchen window. Tasha was cooking something at the stove. He gave an involuntary smile. She, like Beth, always tried to take care of them, even when they didn't need it or want it. He was mildly grateful she didn't listen to their protests when she played mother hen.

"You think?" Gerard mused, resting his elbows on his bent knees. Jess and Beth were polar opposites in many things – except their protectiveness and loyalty to those they cared for.

"Yeah, I think." Mike nodded, grinning. "I know you loved her, man. She was an amazing sister-in-law. Loving Beth, it isn't betraying her memory, or your son's."

"It feels like it is." Gerard sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"That's your baggage, then, because we both know it isn't true." Mike dropped his cigarette onto the ground and crushed it out beneath the heel of his shoe. "I'll say one more thing before I leave you to your thoughts. Beth won't wait around forever. She's already waited, what, five, six years? She's eventually going to start looking somewhere else. _Then_ what are you going to do?" He didn't wait around for his brother's response. Instead, he pulled open the backdoor and wandered back inside.

Gerard sighed again, watching his brother disappear back into the house. He leaned back against the house and gazed up at the sky, torn between doing what he wanted and doing what he thought he should. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the two torn and ragged photos he kept with him at all times.

One was of Beth. He couldn't remember when it'd been taken or who had taken it, but she was standing out in the middle of the desert, a cloud of dust swirling around her. Her face was streaked with dirt, her head thrown back in laughter. Pax, her faithful mutt, had been caught in the act of trying to jump into her outstretched arms, though he was far too big to be carried.

The second picture was of his wife and son. He'd taken the picture himself at his son's first birthday party. Jess was smiling ruefully at their son, whose face was completely covered in chocolate frosting, a birthday crown resting crookedly on his head. His face was scrunched up in a fit of laughter, fists clenched tight at his cheeks.

He traced the faded, folded lines of his son's face, blinking hard when moisture gathered in his eyes. He didn't think he'd ever get used to the loss of his son, but it was nowhere near as painful as it had been. There were nights when he could still hear his child's squealing laughter; there were nights he could still feel the almost choking grip of his child's arms around his neck; there were times when he could still hear the attempts at the word "dada." It was enough to drive him insane – if it hadn't been for the people in his life, he would have gone the way of insanity a long time ago. He sighed and turned his eyes to the sky.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, he sighed softly to himself. "Are they right? Should I let go?" He inquired the heavens. He didn't really expect an answer, but he wasn't sure what the proper goodbye should be to a family he'd refused to let go.

Using a thumb and forefinger, he rubbed his eyes to dispel the tears gathering in the corners. He was caught and he wasn't sure what to do. He turned his eyes back to the heavens and his heart stalled when a star sudden burst brightly and shot across the inky sky, disappearing over the horizon.

"Was that you?" He inquired shakily, wondering if he'd finally jumped off the deep end without a parachute. Another star shot across the sky.

He sighed, swallowed tightly and closed his eyes. "Are you sure?" He opened his eyes again, head tilted back against the wall behind him. A third star streaked brilliantly across the sky, flickering sporadically.

Gerard took a deep, shaky breath, the burning in his chest loosing fractionally. He blew the breath out between pursed lips and closed his eyes for a moment, letting go by infinitesimal lengths. The more he got used to the idea of letting go, the looser his chest felt. What his brother and friend tried to tell him made sense if he unclouded his mind enough to think rationally about it, even if he hadn't wanted to hear it. He gazed down at the picture again, recommitting the image to memory before hoisting himself to his feet.

He made his way into the garage and rummaged around for a shovel. He hoped the rusted-out one he found would hold up to the small task he had in mind. Without giving himself time to have second thoughts, he strode out into the backyard and began digging a small hole in the ground where no one could see. Once he finished digging, he stabbed the shovel into the ground and crouched in front of it.

Letting go was never easy, but it always had to be done. As it had been pointed out to him numerous times in the last few hours, a person couldn't move forward with the future if he was forever stuck in the past. He retrieved the wedding band and the picture of his family from his jacket pocket.

"I miss you. Every day, I miss you." He murmured, trying to swallow past the lump in his throat. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. I can only hope you're in a better place now."

Nothing but silence responded to his words. He took another deep breath.

"I'll never forget." He vowed, blinking hard. He tossed both the photo and the ring into the hole and quickly buried the items. He didn't feel the loss of Jess and his son any less now that he'd let go, but at least now he didn't have to feel quite so guilty about moving on with his life, such as it was. He climbed to his feet and turned to gaze at the house, wondering what the future had in store for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Beth sighed, sitting motionlessly in a chair pulled close to a table bolted to the floor, head bowed forward, shoulders sagged under the weight of the world as she now knew it. Her hands were handcuffed and chained to a metal loop welded to the bottom of the tabletop. She hadn't been able to move much more than a couple of inches in any direction, but it was enough to shift her weight on the chair to ease her aching muscles, or stand up at a stoop if she felt brave enough at any particular moment.

Her muscles screamed with fatigued pain. Her nerves were frayed. She knew she would eventually collapse. None of these emotions or fears showed in her expression. If she allowed them to see just how uncomfortable and scared she really was, it would be suicide.

She wasn't sure how much more she could take. The worst part about being held by BL/ind, they made sure she couldn't figure out just how long they'd detained her. None of the room she's been held in thus far had windows or clocks. The only indicators of time she received were when they brought her food or shoved her into a cell with a narrow cot to sleep in. The last luxury they hadn't given her in what felt like days.

And the questions. The endless barrage of questions: _Where are the Killjoys? Who are the Killjoys? Who are their supporters, friends, and relatives? Where do they spend their time?_

The questions were asked over and over again in the hopes of tripping her up, hoping she would let something slip other than the derisive answers she'd provided so far. The interrogations ended as quickly as they started, each time with a different interrogator. Sometimes they would wake her up and start demanding answers. Other times, they would keep her awake until her mind was stretched tight from lack of sleep. Each time, each answers remained the same.

She wouldn't give them up. The stubborn streak in her wouldn't allow her to. However, the self-preservation every human was born with was now waging war against her stubbornness. She knew in her heart they wouldn't blame her if she broke and started singing like the proverbial canary. It would be so easy to just start letting information slip. They knew how to protect themselves. They wouldn't have gotten this far if they didn't. One little piece of information might buy her a solid block of time to sleep; or a glass of water; or something other than dry bread to eat.

The door to the holding room opened. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to wait a few moments before lifting her eyes to see whom they sent in to interrogate her this time. She would continue to show no fear, no curiosity. It was important they continued to think she didn't care. In the end, it could be the only thing that could save her life.

Two men wearing the traditional BL/ind white jumpsuits strolled into the room. A third followed behind them, hands folded behind his back. She lifted her eyes to his face and her heart lurched painfully into her throat. She recognized those familiar features.

They shared the same eyes, nose and lips – though he looked more like their mother and she looked more like her father. But, they were siblings. He was two years older than her and had loved to throw that fact in her face as children. He was dead. She'd been told he was dead. Her exhausted mind couldn't wrap properly around the image in front of her. How could a dead man be standing in front of her, smiling soullessly?

Her eyes narrowed when he met her gaze. His smile widened, a parody of joy and relief at seeing her.

"Elizabeth, so nice to see you again, sister." Maddox's voice was soft and lilting as he leaned over to press a kiss against her cheek, almost as if the last time they saw each other was the day before at the Sunday dinners their family used to have before the world went to Hell.

"Maddox." She muttered the greeting through clenched teeth. This wasn't something she could have prepared herself for. Word through the grapevine said he was dead, that he died more than a year ago. And now, here he was, standing before her, looking like a bright and shiny robot. "Last I heard, you were dead."

"In the words of the great Mark Twain – rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Maddox presented her with a condescending smile, tilting his head to the side as he studied her. "You're looking awfully tired, sister."

She didn't dignify his comment with a response. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and chose a spot on the wall above his shoulder to stare at. She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and prepared to ignore the barrage of questions no doubt coming her way.

"She's had nine days to talk." One of the guards informed the room.

Had it really been nine days? It felt like fewer and more at the same time. Time had a funny way of traveling strangely when there was no accurate way to keep track of it. She took another deep, silent breath and waited, keeping her expression as impassive as she could. Her dead brother as her next interrogator had accomplished what BL/ind had hoped. It threw her off her game – but it wouldn't for long. She pulled her determination around her like a shield.

"She refuses. She's your sister. Get the information. If she doesn't talk by the end of the night, she'll be transferred and enrolled into the program." The guard continued, voice stilted.

Beth's heart sank slowly to the depths of her stomach. BL/ind initialized "the program" for those who refused to live the lives the company wanted them to live. Those who lived on the fringe, those who lived crime-filled lives were sent to "the program" rather than prison. It was the best and easiest way to keep the Battery City economy from faltering and falling to the wayside. Those who couldn't be conformed in "the program" were executed and put on display as a warning to those who chose to live free of the company.

"Yes, sir." Maddox nodded slowly, pacing the room at a stroll as the two guards left, closing the door behind them.

Beth shifted uncomfortably in her chair, trying to stare benevolently at the man who was her brother. She attempted to ration everything out in her mind. Though his features hadn't changed in more than fifteen years, he looked nothing like he used to. The green and blue streaks in his dark hair were gone, and instead of it hanging in shaggy waves past his shoulders, it was now cut short. He looked like every other Better Living employee – well kept, well maintained, well dressed. He wasn't her brother anymore. He was a corporate drone.

She repeated the mantra in her head more than a dozen times as she watched him walk slowly, pacing the room, looking thoughtful. He didn't smile. He didn't give her a secret, knowing wink. He didn't acknowledge her presence. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his chin with his fingers, obviously having a silent conversation with himself – or maybe he was receiving orders from his boss in a way she couldn't hear. She didn't know the kind of technology BL/ind had developed, but everyone knew communications played a large role.

"Why are you making this harder on yourself?" Maddox finally inquired, turning to face her. "Don't you want this to end?" He continued, arching an eyebrow.

Beth's heart seized within her chest. It was an expression reminiscent of the past. "This?" She countered, keeping her tone neutral, almost defiantly so. "This is a picnic compared to the last seven years." She shrugged, returning her gaze to the spot on the wall just above his shoulder.

She concentrated on blanking her mind of everything except the faces of those she loved. Sweet little chubby-faced Pinky with her straight dark hair and dark brown eyes, smiling with pure joy at the world around her, holding her arms up to be held and cuddled. Beautiful Tunes with a dancer's legs and a whimsical expression in her blue eyes, blond hair flowing out around her as she danced to music only she could hear in her heart. Short and wiry Shades, running circles around the dog, laughing with the sun glinting off his dark brown hair, sunglasses protecting his eyes and his well-being. Tall and gangly Skittles, sitting at the table, waiting patiently for Beth to finish using the electric razor on his short black hair, rolling expressive black eyes dramatically at her. Frick and Frack, grease smeared over their red hair and freckles, mirth shining through their blue eyes as they laughed through an explanation as to how one of the beaters' engines nearly exploded in their faces when trying to fix it.

"Such attitude." He tsked, shaking his head slowly, bringing her reluctantly from her thoughts. "You know, they make pills for that." He reminded gently as he resumed his slow circuit of the room. His pacing didn't make her nervous – until he moved behind her.

"I happen to like my attitude." She retorted tonelessly.

"Perhaps I should fix that." Maddox mused thoughtfully, tapping his lips with the tip of his index finger.

"Try and stuff one of those pills down my throat." She dared, finally meeting his emotionless gaze with her own furious eyes. "I'll bite your fingers off." She warned ominously.

"They _will_ kill you if you don't provide the information they want." He reminded, folding his arms across his chest. He gazed at her for a moment before pulling out the chair resting at the opposite side of the table she was chained to.

"I don't know anything." She repeated for what felt like the millionth time, muttering the words through clenched teeth, enunciating each word carefully.

"You do." Maddox countered, smiling sadly. "You're just protecting a bunch of homegrown terrorists." He sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair.

"Terrorists." Beth's eyes dropped to her forearms, resisting the urge to test her binds again. Her wrists were already raw from the numerous attempts to free herself by sheer force.

"They're trying to destroy everything safe – everything right and good in this world." He murmured, folding his hands on the tabletop.

"Would you destroy something perfect in order to make it beautiful." She mumbled to herself. It was another mantra among the many to help keep exhaustion and insanity at bay.

"What was that?" He demanded, leaning forward with a dark, frustrated frown.

She lifted her eyes, defiantly meeting his gaze. "The same could be said for Better Living – on a global basis." Her voice echoed through the holding room with the strength of her words.

"Be very careful what you say, sister. They don't forgive terrorists or their supporters." He warned, tone softening.

"Then kill me, because I have nothing new to say." She dismissed him once again by staring stonily over his shoulder at the wall again. To distract herself, she conjured images of those she loved in her mind – happy and healthy and safe. She hoped with everything within her that it was true.

"You're my sister." He reminded, tilting his head to the side.

"You're no brother of mine." She countered icily.

"I'd like to avoid your death if at all possible. In fact, I've been lobbying to get you enrolled into the program to rehabilitate you so you can become a productive, functioning, happy member of society." He ignored her statement and settled back against the chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"So you threatened before." Beth muttered, ice condensing in the pit of her stomach. She lifted her head and gazed at his impassive face. "I'd rather die." Her voice was strong, unbending. She had no problem forfeiting her life in order to protect those she loved most.

"I'm your brother, Elizabeth. I'm not anxious to see that happen." Maddox countered reasonably. His tone of voice set her on edge. He was talking to her as if she were a stubborn child.

"You're no brother of mine!" She reiterated loudly, fingers clenching beneath the table. Her eyes returned to his, telegraphing all the fury and hate she felt toward him and the corporation he represented. "My brother died the day you were created!"

"Just tell me where they are." He cajoled, smiling encouragingly at her. "If you tell me where they are, I'll be able to offer you my full protection." He offered, resting his hands on the tabletop, palms open and facing her.

"I don't need or want your protection." She shook her head.

"Where are they?" He demanded again, pressing his palms against the table.

"Where are who?" She retorted, a muscle in her jaw the only indicator that she was losing her patience.

"The Killjoys, Elizabeth." He snapped, surging to his feet. "Where are the Killjoys."

"Everywhere, Maddox. They're everywhere." Beth's answer caused his eyes to narrow, hands clenching into fists. "The Killjoys are in every man, woman and child who refuse to conform to an unfeeling, passionless life. You used to be one, remember?"

"I remember how we all struggled to live, how there were days we went without eating or sleeping." Maddox waved a dismissive hand in the air. "And you know of which Killjoys I speak of."

"I don't know anything about those Killjoys." She refuted stubbornly.

"Don't play stupid. We knew you're in league with them. You've been helping them for years. _Mayhem_." His lips twisted into a parody of a smile, his tone caressing her nickname with contempt.

Beth gritted her teeth, carefully blanking her face from surprise or anger. It wasn't easy. If Better Living knew she was Mayhem, that meant there was a mole somewhere in the ranks, feeding the company information. Her mind whirled with the possibilities. There were dozens upon dozens of people in the network who helped the Killjoys when they needed it. Trying to narrow it down would be next to impossible while she was being detained.

She called up mental images of those who worked closely with the Killjoys, dismissing each in turn for one reason or another. Most of the people who supported and helped were people who had been burned by Better Living in ways that couldn't be forgiven. They were people who wanted to see the controlling corporation destroyed – sometimes at any cost, even if the cost happened to be their own lives.

Doctor Death Defying had lost a brother; Show Pony had lost his parents; Cola had lost his wife; Oracle had lost a fiancé – all of the people who worked closely with them had all lost someone close to them and were nowhere near a forgiving mood. They wanted revenge for the loved ones no longer in their lives. They wanted someone to pay, and the only people who could pay, were the ones working for the corporation. None of them would give up any kind of information, unless it was false and would mislead Better Living into chasing their tails. This information wasn't false.

"Elizabeth." Maddox's voice sounded like a gunshot in the silent room, bringing her back to the present.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She informed him idly, doing her best to look bored.

"You don't know anything about supplying explosives to the Killjoy they call Fun Ghoul so he could level a Better Living construction site?" Maddox arched an eyebrow, his cheek twitching as he reigned in his frustration. It was the only thing about him that reminded her of who he once was. "Four people died in that explosion; four innocent, hardworking, decent people. Two of them were friends. And yet, here you sit, supporting the miscreants in their endeavors. Their blood is on _your_ hands, sister." He informed her, taking obvious pleasure in accusing her of death and destruction.

"I still don't know what you're talking about." She mumbled impassively. Her friends had died as well, so she couldn't feel too badly about the deaths of some Better Living employees.

"And I still know you're lying. We're siblings, remember? We have that…" He paused, glancing up at the ceiling, searching for the right word. "Connection." He finally settled, lips twisting into a mocking smirk.

"Believe whatever you want." She shrugged indifferently. "I don't know anything about the Killjoys. I don't know anything about their plans. I don't know who they are. And I don't know where they are. You can keep threatening me, you can keep asking the same questions over and over again, but my answers won't change."

"We know you're in love with one of them. And that the feeling is mutual." Maddox began to pace slowly once again, hands linked behind his back.

Beth swallowed tightly, heart thundering to a painful pause. They couldn't know about him. She'd been so careful. He'd kept her at arm's length for years for this specific reason. Brown-green eyes flashed into her mind and she nearly stopped breathing. She wasn't here for any other reason. They wanted Poison. They probably figured if they could grab the leader and either turn him or make an example of him, the Killjoy movement would fizzle and die.

"I don't know who they are, so how could I be in love with one of them?" She inquired, trying to use logic against him.

"Party Poison." He announced, smiling condescendingly as he turned to face her.

"Okay, _why_ would I love someone with a name like Party Poison. Do I look like Mrs. Poison to you?" Beth made a face, rolling her eyes.

"You're testing my patience, Elizabeth." He sighed, shaking his head. "We have an informant who told us everything. How do you think we found your home?" He arched an eyebrow, propping his hands on his hips.

"And here I figured my luck had run out." She mused with a shrug.

"Do you think we won't return to your home and grab those kids?" He trumped his last card, smiling cruelly as he leaned over, resting his palms on the table. "You'll never see them again, Elizabeth. Not if you don't help us." It was the only way they knew of could get her to cooperate. He smiled grimly when he received the desired reaction.

"You son of a bitch!" She screamed, trying to stand up. She was brought up short by the handcuffs. "You leave my kids alone! Do you hear me? You touch my kids and, I don't care how long it takes, I'll _kill_ you!"

She yanked savagely at the handcuffs that held her wrists beneath the table. The metal bit into her flesh, unforgiving. Blood dripped slowly onto the floor from the new cuts on her wrists. Her forearms ached from hitting and scraping them against the edge of the table repeatedly in her attempts to free herself so she could choke the life out of the man interrogating her. She had no doubt she could do it; she just needed to free her hands. She continued to struggle until exhaustion overwhelmed her, forcing her to pause and collect more energy.

She glared benevolently up at him. He knew which buttons to push to get the reaction he wanted. He'd _always_ known which buttons to push. And he was succeeding. She knew the Killjoys could take care of themselves, but the kids – they were another story entirely. If they ended up hurt because of her, she'd never forgive herself. She took a deep breath and held it, reminding herself that the kids weren't alone. They had Tasha and Meagan to help look after them, to help make sure they were safe from people looking to snatch them.

The knowledge didn't keep her from giving up on getting her hands free. If she could get enough blood flowing to cover her hands, maybe they would be slick enough to slip right out of the metal – if they weren't too tight. She kept twisting her wrists, ignoring the burning pain, eyes leveled at the only other person in the room.

"Such a vulgar display." Maddox shook his head, dismayed. "I have to admit, I'm shocked. They're orphans, rats. They're not even directly related to you. Why do you care so much about them?" He inquired, lifting his eyebrows.

"No one wanted them. I did. They're _mine_. And so help me, if you touch _any_ of them, if you even _look_ at them, I will find a way to get out of here and I will _kill_ every last one of you!" She voiced, voice trembling with the anger and adrenaline coursing through her body. Her eyes burned with tears of reaction when the pain in her wrists intensified.

"It won't happen." He offered, holding his hand up, palm out. "If you just tell me where they are." He amended, smiling.

"Damn it, I don't know!" She exclaimed loudly, yanking savagely on the handcuffs again. No amount of blood would grease her hands and wrists enough to get her out of the confining bracelets. She was so far beyond frustrated there wasn't even a word in the known English language for it. She flinched infinitesimally when he slammed his hands on the table, leaning over so his face was mere inches from her.

"Where are they?" He shouted, voice echoing off the sterile walls.

"I don't know!" She returned in a shout, lifting her chin. Better men than him had tried and failed to intimidate her.

"You're lying." Maddox countered angrily, his face flushing a dark red.

"I'm not! They don't check in with me to tell me where they're going or what they're doing! They could be anywhere!" Beth finally told a small fraction of the truth, veiling it slightly. She _didn't_ know where they were, but she hoped they weren't anywhere near Battery City. Better Living had essentially locked down the Zones. They were letting people in, but they were also taking careful note of everyone who passed through the Zone checkpoints. If they entered the city, BL/ind would know about it and they would be prepared by the time the Killjoys showed up.

"So, you finally admit you know them." Maddox folded his arms across his chest. He glanced up at the camera resting in the corner, recording their interaction and nodded fractionally. Seconds later, the door opened and another man was shoved into the room.

"You son of a bitch. _You_ put my family in danger?" Beth lunged at the newcomer and was brought up short by the handcuffs jarring her back into her seat. Her eyes narrowed in fury, face flushing. "It wasn't bad enough, you trying to insinuate yourself into my home? You have to drag my kids into it? You fucking _coward_! I should have let them _kill_ you!"

"You said you wouldn't hurt her." Jay muttered, eyes taking in her disheveled and beaten appearance. "You gave your word only the Killjoys would be hurt.

She eyed Jay warily, gritting her teeth against the words she wanted so desperately to fling at him. He'd shown up six months ago, wounded and in need of some serious care. It had taken weeks for him to heal properly. Both Tasha and Beth felt badly enough for him that they allowed him to stay, especially after the sob story he'd told them about his life. After the first initial few weeks, he'd wanted to become a part of her family in a way she wasn't comfortable with. Then they'd found out he lied about everything – his tortured past, the death of his family, everything. It'd been the last straw. It had taken the combined efforts of Beth, Poison and Ghoul to get him off her property, but the right amount of threats were used and Jay had never returned. Until now.

She almost bared her teeth at him in anger when he strode over to her, kneeling beside her. He lifted a hand to her face, brushing hair from her eyes, his own expression obliviously tender. She jerked away from him and almost hissed.

"Don't fight them so hard. It'll all be over soon." Jay assured softly, cupping her cheek in his hand, thumb sweeping across the ridge of her cheekbone.

"Don't touch me." She hissed, jerking away from him again.

"Elizabeth." Maddox warned ominously.

"You better kill me." She informed the room, voice dangerously soft. "If you don't, I promise, I'll kill you. _No one _threatens my family and gets away with it."

"They're not your family. Not really." Jay entreated, shaking his head. "They do nothing but put you in danger. They hurt you."

"They're the ones who protect me. _This_ is what _you've_ done to protect me." She glanced around the room, frowning darkly at Jay.

"Why is she handcuffed?" Jay surged to his feet, turning to face Maddox.

"She's violent. She broke a guard's wrist and another's nose." Maddox informed him, slightly amused. He shrugged a shoulder, coming to stand on the other side of the table, eyeing them both in open curiosity.

"She shouldn't be handcuffed." Jay shook his head, frowning. He looked a little dazed.

"Now that we've established you know the Killjoys, where are they?" Maddox inquired, arching an eyebrow.

"They could be anywhere." She muttered, lifting her gaze to Maddox's. "Like I said, they don't exactly check in with me." She kept her tone as neutral as she could. Showing her anger and frustration had given them leverage against her. They knew where she was weakest now and they would use that to their advantage. She couldn't afford to let it happen again.

"Fine." Maddox sighed impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. "Where do you _think_ they are?"

"Let her loose, man. She's not going to run." Jay spoke up, gazing uneasily at the blood dotting the floor at her feet.

"She doesn't _have_ anywhere to run." Maddox slid an icy look toward the other man and dismissed him by turning his attention back to his little sister. "Now, where do you think they are?" He reiterated the question calmly.

"I. Don't. Know. Damn it." Beth exclaimed, gritting her teeth. She closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, determined to keep herself from flying off the handle again. "How many times do I have to say the same things over and over again before you start be believe me?"

"Send a unit back out to the house. Collect the children." Maddox glanced up at the camera.

"No!" Beth cried out, yanking on her handcuffs again. "God, I hope they burn this place to the ground!"

"Then give me the information I require!" Maddox shouted, eyes narrowing at her.

"They have three safe houses spread out over the Zones. Try one of those!" Beth countered, worrying her lower lip between her teeth as her mind whirled on all the possibilities.

"Where?" Maddox leaned over the table again, meeting her unflinching eyes.

"29 Bleaker Street. Zone 2." Beth sighed, closing her eyes. Her head bowed forward, shoulders slumping, acting as if she were betraying her friends. But, the Killjoys hadn't used that particular safe house in more than three years.

"The second?" Maddox inquired.

"1089 Sutter Avenue. Zone 5." She mumbled, forcing her muscles to relax.

"And the third?" Maddox continued gently.

"9475 Archer Road. Just outside of Zone 6." She lifted her head; allowing tears to slip down her cheeks for affect, face crumpling slightly. She had to play this the right way, or they would know she was lying.

"Good. Very good." Maddox strolled around to the other side of the table, smoothing his hand down her hair, consoling her.

Beth gritted her teeth, forcing out a few more tears, shoulders shaking with emotion. It just wasn't shame or sadness. What she really wanted to do was kick him as hard as she could in the shin to deliver an ounce of the pain he'd created in the last hour.

Maddox crouched in front of her, smiling. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" He inquired gently, lifting his eyebrows.

"I just betrayed the people I care most about. Fuck you." She retorted, shaking hair from her eyes.

"Better Living has already approved your enrollment into the program as a special favor to me. You should be happy – thankful, even. You'll be starting a new life in a couple of months with me and your young man, here." Maddox's smile widened, obviously pleased with the turn of events.

"I'll die before I let that happen." She whispered, blinking hard to dispel the rest of the tears gathered in her eyes.

Maddox glanced up at the ceiling when a siren began singing through the complex. She met Maddox's suddenly furious gaze with wide eyes of her own. She prayed it wasn't what she thought it was. They wouldn't be that stupid, would they? She closed her eyes on a groan. Of course they would be. The Killjoys made it into Battery City and Better Living was now preparing for their arrival.

The two guards that escorted Maddox into the interrogation room returned, one holding a small handled case. Maddox gestured toward her, reaching for a communications device in his pocket.

"Dose her. I don't want her causing problems for us when the Killjoys arrive." Maddox commanded, turning his back to the rest of the room as he held the device to his ear.

The guard set the case on the table and opened it, pulling out a syringe. He turned to her and pushed her sleeve up to her shoulder. She struggled briefly, trying to yank her arm away from him, but with her hands bound as they were, she couldn't move far. She gritted her teeth when the guard grabbed her arm, using pressure to keep her in place as he inserted the needle into her arm. The plunger made it halfway down before the guard was shoved abruptly out of the way.

Beth was unable to keep a yelp silent when the syringe jerked, the needle snapping off in her arm. Jay, thinking fast, pinched her skin between his fingers and plucked the needle from her arm, tossing it to the floor. The second guard took the opportunity to reach out and grab Jay by the back of his shirt. With a quick yank and twist of his arm, Jay was sprawled out on the floor a few feet away. Jay gazed defiantly up at the guard and Maddox.

"That was very foolish." Maddox muttered, shaking his head slowly. He slipped the communication device back into his pocket.

"This isn't what I signed on for." Jay shook his head.

Beth blinked and shook her head. Whatever they gave her was taking affect quickly. Her mind slowly fluttered with dizziness and fatigue. She shook her head again and rubbed her wrists against the metal of the handcuffs, hoping the pain would keep her lucid if enough adrenaline could start to naturally counteract what they'd given her.

"No. You signed on to have the Killjoys murdered so you could join the program with her and become a happy family." Maddox countered, lips twisting into a mocking smile.

"Not like this." Jay retorted angrily.

"Stop your insolent whining!" Maddox shouted, startling everyone into silence. "My god, its no wonder she couldn't tolerate you."

Beth lifted her head, blinking hard and lifted both her eyebrows. Maddox had always been a mellow, easy-going person. This change in demeanor was almost shocking and more than a little out of character. She shook her head again. Her mind began to get a little hazy, but so far, no worse than if she hasn't slept for three or four days. She could handle herself this way. With six kids, four of them boys, she lived most of her life on little to no sleep and functioned fairly well doing it.

Beth frowned, glancing from her brother to the closed door when the sound of running feet echoed down the hallway outside. She didn't know what was going on, but she could hear yelling about someone breaching the compound. It was a bad time for it to happen, since she was being transferred to another facility. There were extra security personnel on site and ready for just about anything. She alternately hoped none of her friends would get hurt, and cursed them for being so stupid as to try and get her back. But, whatever her feelings on the subject, the Killjoys had arrived.


End file.
